


Before The Last Grain

by InNeedOfInspiration



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Romanogers - Fandom, Stevenat - Fandom
Genre: AU, Black Mirror style, Complete AU, F/M, No Avengers, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:40:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22974925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InNeedOfInspiration/pseuds/InNeedOfInspiration
Summary: A watch with an algorithm capable of determining when you will meet your soulmate stands in the way of Steve and Natasha. Can they go against fate and change it before the countdown ends?
Relationships: Captasha, Capwidow, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, romanogers, stevenat
Comments: 106
Kudos: 205





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And let us embark on a new journey! Thanks for joining.  
> Complete AU - no Avengers, only the characters.  
> I hope you’ll find the concept and plot exciting. Do share your impressions and comments; they mean a lot.

Time is a strange concept. It's impalpable yet heavily perceptible. It can make a moment linger forever or go by fleetly. It stretches or shrinks. It is mysterious and unfathomable.

Or so, it was.

It all changed fifteen years ago when scientists finally deciphered its secret code. At a time when divorces were skyrocketing in the world, a company came up with an algorithm capable of determining when you were to meet your significant other and encapsulated it in the modest form of a watch.

 _LOVE IS ONLY A TICK AWAY_ the slogan read on every TV commercial and banner in the streets and online. 

Skepticism gave way to curiosity and hope. And as hard as it was to admit— and still is for some — the Watch had startling results. Every encounter predicted led to a successful relationship. Love blossomed everywhere and never perished. The divorce rate fell significantly across the world and the efficiency of the Watch became indisputable.

The principle is astoundingly simple. The Watch activates around the wrist of the wearer the first time it is worn and sets automatically. When the countdown reaches 0, which means you are standing in front of your soulmate, it beeps (along with theirs) then turns off completely.

Of course, a small, trivial object with such power stirs strong opinions. People began to argue over it — some asked to make it illegal and have it banned. The initiative was strongly supported by the main Churches, but not only. Over time, — after the heated debate wore off—, you could pretty much find three categories of people. The overwhelming majority — who wore the Watch and waited expectantly waited for the last tick; the minority — those who'd refused to buy or activate it altogether; and those who knew, but vehemently tried to fight against fate...at their own scale.

Now, whether people live by or abhor it, the Watch has become a trivial object omnipresent in your everyday life. Like a phone or tablet.

The many people currently bustling in the small Manhattan coffee shop are walking past, waiting in line for their orders with a Watch around their wrist. Or not. It's something you don't dwell on.

Natasha Romanoff is sipping coffee at her usual table by the window, right next to the tall plant. She looks up from the book she's reading and notices a man is staring at her from the sugar counter across the room. She dismisses it and goes on to take another sip before resuming her reading. Her cup is nearly empty when a tall, broad figure comes to stand above her.

"Excuse me," a male voice calls. She takes her eyes off of the page and looks up. It is the same man from earlier. He's holding his cup and has a notebook clutched under his arm.

His blue eyes stare into hers with an unexpected combination of boldness and bashfulness.

"I couldn't help admiring you from across the room and, as I was about to leave, I thought I had to take a chance and come and speak to you."

She raises her eyebrow. His advances certainly are flattering. And she'll admit, he is strikingly handsome. His sharp, square jaw, his full lips, and the golden hair, without mentioning his incredible athletic figure — the man has it all.

"May I?" he asks, pointing at the chair across from her.

She nods. He smiles and sits down. He puts down on the table what she realizes is a leather sketchbook, creased in the middle for often being folded with the corners worn out. He attentively watches her.

“You come here a lot?” he asks.

“Probably more than I should,” she says with a smirk. “You?”

“First time, actually. And I’m glad I did.”

The smirk tugging at his lips is compelling. Almost irresistible.

“Yeah. Their lattes sure are the best,” she chimes in. Her humor makes him smile.

They chat, mostly banter in the most natural and familiar way until he finally asks:

“Can I give you my number? See how things could develop…”

She eyes him without a word.

“They wouldn’t develop much unless you are…,” she trails off as she pulls up her sleeve, “3 months, 5 days and 37 minutes early.”

He brushes his thumb over his bottom lip with a slightly stern expression. He takes a breath in and leans back on the chair. His eyes dive into hers, unwavering.

“You didn’t come off as the type to wear the Watch,” he says. He doesn’t sound disappointed or judging. Maybe the contrary intrigued and willing to tackle that unexpected challenge.

“I like to keep people on their toes.”

“3 months, huh? That’s quite close,” he comments.

She smiles unabashedly. He nods to himself.

“I’ll admit I didn’t see this hold-up coming but I’m a good judge of character.”

“And?” she cocks an eyebrow.

He extends his forearms on the table and leans over, creating an unsettling kind of intimacy.

“You’re not the type to let an algorithm take control of your life.”

His bold statement and the quiet confidence he displays draw her in. She smiles and glances away quietly.

“Or maybe I believe in destiny.” A short, contemplative silence follows.

He quickly looks at the clock on the wall across.

“Time seems to be against us today. But I’m pretty stubborn. What’s your name?” he asks, casually.

“Natasha.”

It makes him smile. “Let’s make a deal, _Natasha_ ,” he purrs her name like hot and sweet liquor. “If we meet again, you’ll owe me a date. It’ll be my honor to ask you out again.”

“Why would I make such a deal?” she questions daringly.

“Because if we meet again we can definitely agree it was meant to be, right?”

The corner of his mouth curls up. He takes his sketchbook, folds it under his arm then gets up. As he walks away, she calls out.

“If I choose to honor this deal, I should at least know your name.”

His large shoulders spin around. He smiles triumphantly.

“Steve Rogers.”

That evening Natasha Romanoff comes home from work and smiles as she finds herself almost wishing to meet that stranger in the coffee shop again.

* * *

_2 MONTHS, 30 DAYS, 18 HOURS AND 12 MINUTES AND 33 SECONDS_

And indeed, they do. It happens very randomly about a week later. Natasha is chatting alongside her colleague and friend Maria Hill at a fancy but relaxed banquet party they have been invited to when she sees him, watching her from across the room. He is standing with a group of people who are laughing loudly, totally oblivious of the scene that seems to unfold in slow motion.

He is wearing an elegant black shirt with sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms with a pair of black trousers. It strikingly contrasts with his light hair and turquoise blue eyes. He is a guest, too, but he has the attention of half the females in the audience without even trying. But he doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes are fixed on her with a satisfying smirk playing on his lips.

He lets the moment linger as a way to savor his victory. And oddly perhaps, she is too. Maybe she likes the thrill of this adventurous curve in the straight and steady path lying ahead of her.

She whispers a couple of words into Maria’s ear, apologizes to her company and goes out on the large terrace looking over Manhattan and its skyline. It only takes a few seconds before she hears him approach.

“Quite a lovely evening, isn’t it?” he says after standing by the guardrail.

“And full of surprises,” she finishes with a smile.

She turns to face him. “Ok, what’s your secret? How’d you know you’d find me here?”

He leans an elbow on the rail and turns towards her, too.

“I didn’t. I’m pleasantly surprised too, to be honest.”

She snorts and shakes her head, then gazes at the floodlit landscape in front of them.

“So how come you were invited? Who are you friends with?”

He points at the exuberant man giving a grandiloquent speech to his assembly.

“I’m Tony Stark’s lawyer.”

She nods to herself. “I guess that explains the whole ‘good judge of character’ talk.”

“Becoming his lawyer may not have been my brightest moment,” he jokes. “And you?”

“I’m a pianist. Stark has been funding many of my concerts across the city.”

“You must be very good at it, then. Tony doesn’t choose to be someone’s patron lightly.” 

She smiles silently. She can feel his expectant gaze upon her.

“So…Natasha, will you have dinner with me? And who knows? I might even surprise you.”

His boyish smile forces a giggle out of her. She reaches over to take the flute of champagne in his hand and takes a sip.

“Maybe you already have,” she murmurs. 

* * *

The date was agreed on for the following Friday in a busy street in Brooklyn. She finds him standing on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets. He is wearing a dark brown leather jacket. She has put on a pair of blue high-waist jeans with a silky maroon cropped top with a jacket. Her hair is up in a bun.

He flashes a wide when he sees her coming up.

“You look stupendous,” he says. For a pair of jeans and a jacket?

“That’s…quite an enthusiastic response.”

He chuckles. “You’ll understand later.”

“So where are we going?” she asks.

“I know a local Italian around the corner. It’s been open for as far as I can remember.”

They make their way there. The interior is as modest as the outside façade. It surprises her — not a common choice for a Wall Street lawyer. He’s not trying to dazzle her and she likes it.

“Steve!” a man calls loudly in a thick Italian accent. He warmly shakes his hand and taps his shoulder then turns to greet Natasha with the same friendly enthusiasm. “Welcome to Giovanni’s, darling. I have kept the best table for you.”

They go and sit and Giovanni lights up the half-used candle.

“They serve the best lasagna. I know, I’ve tried at other places.”

Giovanni casts him the glare. Steve gulps. “Not that many.”

The wine is exquisite in an authentic type of way. There is nothing glittery or arrogant at Giovanni’s but it’s charming all the same. She can see why he’s chosen this place for their first date.

"Of course we could only meet again, and in these circumstances. This is Tony Stark's world and we all live in it," she remarks and they both laugh.

The conversation eventually shifts to the Watch.

“What’s your story? Why aren’t you wearing one?”

“Why should I?” he laughs. “Half my family is obsessed with it and I’m not sure they are any happier.”

“So your family doesn’t share your views?”

“The day my parents got theirs it struck the end of their marriage. My father was never truly involved anyways; it simply gave him an excuse to leave us. My mom’s Watch beeped eventually and she re-married. He’s a nice guy; his wife had passed many years before. They’re doing well. His son — my step-brother — who’s about my age, has patiently been waiting for his Watch to beep.”

“And what’s so wrong about it?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “Call me old-fashioned or stubborn, but I like the idea that _I_ have chosen the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

“Some people need a little help, sometimes. It is scary to fall in love.”

“It’s always been. I’m not scared to have my heart broken so long as I allowed it to work.”

She eyes him from behind her glass of red wine.

“You think people don’t fall in love nowadays?”

He stares into her emerald eyes. “I think they forget to be spontaneous.”

They’re words she hasn’t heard in years and that bring back fond nostalgia.

“Spontaneous?” she trails off as she plays with the spoon of her dessert. “Show me.”

He cracks a smile.

He lays bills on the table and gets up, flaunts his leather jacket over his shoulder then stretches a hand out to her. “I was hoping you would ask.”

She looks up at him with inquisitive but beguiled eyes then glances down at his hand. She gently slips her fingers onto his palm.

A couple of minutes later, they are walking along the street. He halts and looks at her.

“Why are we stopping?” she asks. 

He smiles. “Our ride is here.”

She stares in disbelief at the big motorcycle parked behind him. She chuckles.

“You’re the first lawyer I meet who rides one of these!”

“I guess I like to keep people on their toes,” he echoes her words, earning a smirk from her, then leans over to get the helmet. He steps in front of her and gently lays it over her head. He then fastens the clip.

He teasingly pokes the tip of her nose with his finger. “It looks cute on you.”

He puts his helmet on and straddles the motorcycle. She watches with an agape mouth — what a sight!

“When you’re ready,” he says kindly.

Her heartbeat quickens. The exhilaration is slowly surging up her body. It feels like old times again. She smiles and gives an encouraging nod to herself before getting on. Her hands gently slip around his waist.

The engine roars fiercely. It sends shivers down her spine. Steve pulls back slowly then engages on the road. As they enter the freeway, his hand swiftly pulls around the handle, launching the bike forward. Her fingers grasp the fabric of his shirt. They soon get away from the bustling city and the light turns dim as they dive into the night. Steve drives fast along the deserted roads lined with trees. She slowly looks up and catches sight of the thousand stars glowing in the sky. It seems like ages since she last saw them.

The mild air sweeps across her face and she breathes in the scent of humid grass and leaves. She loosens her grip and bends backward, taking in the view, enjoying the moment. She lets out a joyful and carefree squeal whose echo dies down in the distance. He smiles from where he is sitting.

Thirty minutes later, he pulls over on the side of a quiet rural road. They are both leaning on the bike, gazing at the splendorous untouched nature in front of them.

She taps her finger on the screen of her Watch.

“My father bought it for me when it came out. I’d just turned 18. He had great hopes for me which involved being in a happy marriage and having children. But I wasn’t ready for any of it. I was…,” she smiles blankly, “rebellious. Hardly contented with anything. I took his gift as a leash so I protested. Commitment meant little to me. I’d date around for the sake of proving I could. Then I met this guy, a singer, he offered me my ticket out. I went with him on a tour around Europe. It was fun, and I felt free. Alive.” She pauses and takes a deep breath in. “My father had a heart attack. He died alone and it took days before someone even realized and found him. It took even longer before I came back and claimed his body at the morgue. After that, I saw why family was important. And I put the Watch on.”

She turns to look at him with watery eyes and shrugs slightly as she sniffs and forces a smile. “Never took it off once ever since.”

Steve is watching her quietly. She notices his eyes are slightly gleaming too under the moonlight. “I’m sorry,” he says.

She shakes her head. “It’s ok. It was years ago. Anyways, when I came back I settled down and resumed my studies. I started a new life and it hasn’t been an unhappy one so far.”

The corner of his mouth goes up slightly. “Has it been a happy, fulfilling one, though?”

She runs her fingers through her hair. “I don’t know. It’s been so long. But it feels safe.” 

“I get it. I really do.”

They look at each other without a word. She bites her bottom lip and shuts her eyelids. Her mind runs through a thousand thoughts, once of which is far more obsessive than the others and she can no longer pretend to ignore. Looking back at him staring at her with such candor and yearning, she feels the pull to lean in.

She makes a resolute nod and stands on her feet. She turns to face him.

“If we’re doing this,” she begins, “we can’t get attached. We’re just being spontaneous and going along with it…for the time it lasts.”

Still sitting on the bike, he looks at her with meek, but lustful, eyes. He looks down and shakes his head, snorting.

“Natasha. I like you,” he admits. “I like you. I think part of me will always want more but I can’t risk losing it all for being too greedy. We’ll go with your terms.”

She smiles. “Great,” she says and holds her hand up to make it an official shake.

He laughs softly. Taking holf of it, he softly yanks her up to him, crushing his lips against hers, sealing the deal with a kiss.

_2 MONTHS, 28 DAYS, 14 HOURS, 41 MINUTES AND 7 SECONDS_


	2. Chapter 2

_2 MONTHS, 8 DAYS, 12 HOURS, 3 MINUTES AND 57 SECONDS_

Steve groans slightly as his eyelids remain shut tight. He pulls his hand from under his pillow and stretches his arm out across the mattress. The void space next to him is sourly cool, and has been for a while. He sighs and flips over on his back. The past 3 weeks, and many nights over, Natasha has left nothing but the shape of her figure and the subtle scent of her perfume into his cotton silk; and heated memories to stretch the night and seep into the next morning.

Natasha never stays longer than necessary or longer than she intends to. She usually sends a text less than an hour before her impromptu visit, makes the bed her own then slips off the warm sheet to disappear into the starless night.

And every new shortened night deepens his yearning for her. So he gives more. Every embrace becomes more passionate, eager…and maybe, to some extent, desperate. He wonders if she can feel how every burning kiss, every lingering caress, every lustful union of their bodies conceal the mute disquiet slowly burgeoning inside him. How every ardent gesture is begging for her attention.

Yes, the past three weeks have been the most uncanny combination of consuming thrill and quiet agony. One that leaves him insatiable.

But those are Natasha’s terms for this innocent, harmless fling to endure. And Natasha is very much in control. From the moment she texts to the moment she slips away, she is the one leading the dance. Bold and unapologetic.

He liked it, at first. Very much so. Fantasizing about, and never knowing, when and how their next sexual escapade would take place. But what excited him now frustrates him. Harmless to her only, it seems. For he can feel it. The kisses she returns are as steamy as they are hollow. They’re nothing but the thrill of satisfying a carnal need but they lack warmth and closeness. She gives but doesn’t engage. Her sensual generosity only reflects her emotional indifference.

Maybe he’s never been one for those meaningless hook-ups. Lying in the dim room lit by the city lights glowing through the wide window pans, her absence only emphasizes his solitude. He’s gotten used to it — tomorrow morning, mind deep into his cases, the feeling will wane. He rolls over and pulls her cold pillow to him. Wrapping his arm around it, her familiar scent swirls up his nostrils and eventually drifts him to sleep.

A couple of days later, his phone beeps.

_You free tonight? I’m starving_

He smiles sternly.

_Come on over. I’ll cook. 7 pm?_

The screen of his phone flashes a few seconds later.

_It’s a date ;)_

The following evening, they’re sitting at the kitchen island with jazz music playing in the background.

“How was your day? Did you have to deal with one of Tony’s shenanigans?”

He smiles. “Oddly enough, Tony has been quite all right lately. Overall, a quiet and peaceful 36 hours.”

She chuckles. “Fingers crossed he passes the 48 hours bar,” she says before taking a new mouthful from her plate.

“Let’s not jinx it,” he jokes then rubs his hand over his forearm propped on the table. “How about you?”

She nods while swallowing with a smile then sweeps her hair over to the other side. “Just rehearsing. I’m giving a concerto in Toronto in about two weeks.”

“Sounds exciting.”

His eyes instinctively fall on her fingers, elegantly wrapped under her chin. He can see she has the hands of a pianist: strong and graceful, fingers long and slim.

“It’s mostly lots of practice, discipline, and resilience,” she comments with a shrug and reaches for her wine. Her fingers beautifully wrap around the glass. She gets pensive. “When I get on stage and hit the first key, that’s when it all becomes worth it.” She pivots on the stool and smirks cheekily. “When the audience claps and breaks into a pool of tears, well that’s the cherry on top.”

She comes off the stool and wanders across the penthouse over to the lounge room, past the fireplace to stand in front of the large windows facing the river and Manhattan.

“This view is humbling,” she murmurs in awe like she is seeing it for the first time. “I can see why you’d want to live in Brooklyn.”

He gets up and watches her closely, eyes locked on his own humbling view.

“The main reason I chose Brooklyn is I grew up here — I wouldn’t see myself living anywhere else. But I admit the view was quite a compelling reason to sign the lease.”

She falls into silent contemplation. She doesn’t notice but her fingers slowly begin to play the notes she’s quietly humming under her breath, spontaneously creating the first beats of a melody. It’s fascinating to watch.

She nods to herself, gaging the first draft in her mind before stopping altogether to lock it safely in a corner of her memory.

“Where were we?” she asks with a purring voice. She swings around and gently leans on the glass. Her glass of wine hanging at her side, the fingers of her other hand wonderingly trace a line up along the side slit of her skirt.

“If you’re still hungry, I have dessert in the fridge,” he says, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

It makes her laugh. She drops head back onto the window glass. She pauses as she seems to gather her thoughts.

“You’re not like the other guys, you know that? You’re there, watching me sheepishly from across the room. It’s kinda hard to read you right now.”

He puts his glass down and walks over to her. He comes to stand in front of her.

“It’s not that hard, actually. All you have to do is ask.”

The corner of her mouth goes up a little. She tilts her head slightly and eyes him. Daring, yet hesitant.

“Ok. What are you thinking right now?”

“That I’m the luckiest guy in Brooklyn tonight for having such charming company. For the most part. But I must admit, also clueless, as to how the night will end.”

“How do you want it to end?” she cocks an eyebrow.

His hands are in his pockets. His pupils are locked on her. Calm and collected.

“You know how.”

It makes her smile and look away. Her expression changes slightly, turns unexpectedly wistful.

“This is just a game, Rogers. Just play along.”

“Except I don’t know the rules of it.”

She bites her thumb friskily. “There shouldn’t always be. Life is complicated enough.”

He glances away and nods to himself.

“Right. Then uncomplicate things. What’s going on right now?”

She shrugs innocently. “I’m just a woman, with a breathtaking view of Manhattan lying behind, looking at an attractive man she wants to lie in bed with.”

Electricity sparks around them and the short space between their bodies, pulling them together like magnets. Their lips crush together, invasive and devouring. Her free hand pins his waist against her. His mouth trails along her jaw to the nape of her neck — a particularly erogenous spot of her body as he’s learned. A moan escapes her lips as her arm jerks away and she presses the palm of her hand against the cool glass, sending chills along her flustering body.

She pulls him away and catches her breath. Natasha glances behind him and a mischievous smile comes to her lips.

“Doesn’t literally have to be a bed, though.”

Pressing her hand against his chest, she leads him along to the couch nearby. He trips over the edge and falls flat on his back. He leans on his elbows as she puts her glass of wine down on the coffee table nearby. She then climbs on the sofa and straddles him.

She’s already unbuttoning his shirt before he has time to voice any of his lingering concerns. All of them mellow into an unsound mush. All he feels and grasps right now is the growing and overwhelming longing, primal and imperial. His hands are mirroring hers, pulling her top off of her.

The sizzling sound of the fireplace can only be heard between their lusty moans.

* * *

These same flames have lost in intensity a few hours later as they both lie naked on the rug by the fireplace. Lying on her stomach, her red hair, down and wavy, fall loosely on the side of her face as her fingers fiddle with the corner of the cushion her elbows are propped on. Her legs crossed, up in the air.

Steve watches how the warm incandescence from the fire shimmers over the curves of her flawless figure. The nib of his pencil is tracing soft lines over the paper, his sketchbook steadily pressed between his fingers. For the past hour and a half, he has been fighting off sleep in an inane attempt to prolong this evening. Maybe drawing her is a way to keep a piece of her with him, even long after she will be gone. Embossing this memory of her onto the thick paper with lead.

Natasha doesn’t seem to mind or give it much interest. She lets herself be his muse for the night.

But his keen eye gets heavier, and so does the hand holding the pencil. He can feel he’s losing his fight against sleep.

“Do you have many of your other conquests in that book?” she eventually asks.

Eyes fixed on his sketch, he smiles. “You’re the first actually.”

He has just finished tracing the small of her back, blissfully vertiginous, and is going on to outline the curve of her bottom.

She drops her head onto the cushion and smirks. “Will you let me see it?”

“We’ll see about that,” he comments lightly, focused on his task.

“You know this is possibly the most artsy thing ever. Can’t be topped…unless I just jumped and went to compose a new symphony, in the nude.”

“Well, I don’t have a piano. We can always ask the neighbor downstairs to let you use his.”

She smiles amusedly.

“You’re a good guy, Steve. Any woman would be happy to have you,” she comments detachedly. “You should get yourself a Watch and wait for your girl. Just as she is.”

His eyes fall on the one handcuffed around her wrist. He watches the seconds tick by in dooming silence.

His expression turns serious. “I used to wear one,” he says, still drawing.

Natasha’s eyes swiftly lock on him. “Why did you take it off?”

“I wore it for many years. And then it just deactivated.”

Her features stiffen. Everybody has heard of it, and dreaded it. The loss of your soulmate. No message flashing on the screen, no comfort — just a blank screen. The Watch turns off forever, lifeless. No second option, no new Watch. For the wearer, the absolute certainty they will never meet their other half.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

He shrugs. “It’s okay. I managed to pull a few strings with people working for the Watch company and they traced back the code to her. Car accident. Her funeral happened to be a couple of days later and I attended the service,” he tells the story with a collected expression. “A British immigrant. Her name was Peggy Carter. And that was the end of it, really.”

The end of it before it had even started. It’d felt weird. Feeling a sense of loss without suffering any actual lack. You’re not emotionally affected and yet you’re grieving. Grieving for a person that was not from your past, but was supposed to fill your future. Grieving your own fate probably.

“Anyways, that was a while ago; and as strange as it sounds to say, I moved on.”

He smiles and she mirrors it, except weakly. The conversation then shifts to lighter topics.

He’s halfway through drawing her crossed calves when his eyes, burning with exhaustion, force him to surrender. He closes the sketchbook and drops in on the coffee table behind him. He reclines on the floor, head tilted in her direction. He watches her intently. She shows no ounce of exhaustion as shown by the swift motions of her fingers.

“You’re gonna leave, aren’t you?” he asks dozily. Her pupils dart in his direction.

“Don’t fret about it. It’s not worth it.”

“You know you could just take the key,” he says slowly. “I have a spare in the kitchen drawer. Since you’re gonna sneak out you might as well want to lock the door.”

She chuckles.

“You never asked where I live,” she muses aloud.

His eyelids are drooping like heavy curtains.

“Because I know you’re not ready to tell me.”

She pouts and mumbles her thumb.

“Oh dear, you really held on long this time,” she says to herself. Her voice seems to come from miles away.

Her figure turns blurry and his sight gets obscure.

“You’re gonna leave, aren’t you?” he manages to voice weakly.

Her figure leans over him.

“Good night, Rogers,” she murmurs then her lips gently graze his as he drifts to sleep.

The next morning, when he wakes up at dawn, the fire completely extinguished, he’s alone. He sighs, grabs his book and finishes the sketch, trying to revive the blazing night.

* * *

Natasha disappeared like the most ethereal fantasy. She answered his texts only briefly, in a detached way. And he soon understood he’d scared her away.

She doesn’t visit again.

Days go by and he resumes his normal routine. Work, social gatherings, and home. He sits on his couch, silently watching the skyline standing in front of him.

He catches himself missing the time when she would sneak out of his apartment. At least, he had her for a few hours then.

Over a week later, he’s in his bed. He puts a file down and looks at the clock. He remembers this is the night she is performing in Toronto.

He’s been asleep for many hours. He doesn’t hear the muffled sounds in his room. Then two arms come and drape over his bare back. The skin is slightly cooler from the soft wind outside. The familiar scent of her perfume hovers above him and lulls him.

She presses her body against his, spooning him, and lies the side of her face on his warm, soft skin.

He doesn’t want to open his eyes. It is too blissful of a dream to risk ending it and waking up to a disappointing reality. He lays his hand on her knuckles then holds it gently.

Next, they both sleep…until the end of the night. And beyond. 

The first time they sleep together.

_1 MONTH, 27 DAYS, 11 HOURS, 18 MINUTES AND 16 SECONDS_


	3. Chapter 3

Their first morning together is one of many others. Natasha usually wakes up to the smell of eggs and bacon coming from the kitchen and, sometimes, when he’s fast enough — or when she sleeps in longer— to breakfast in bed with a soft peck on her lips.

It’s nice and sweet whatever their thing is. They haven’t labeled it and it’s for the best thing. Labeling makes it so definite…and real.

This Saturday she suggested they have a picnic in Central Park now that the sunnier days are out. She took care of bringing the basket with food and he brought wine.

It is a warm and sunny day afternoon indeed. His head is resting in her lap while she feeds him raspberries and grapes. It’s a pleasant spot, he can smell the subtle scent of her hovering perfume. They blend seamlessly among the other couples sunbathing across the area.

“Any plans tomorrow?” he asks.

“Going to Soho with Maria. She needs a dress to attend one of her cousin’s engagement party.”

“The horror,” he jokes sarcastically.

She looks down at him and reaches for the shades on his nose. “You have no idea,” she answers as she puts them on.

He nods. “We can meet after, though. I’ll hail a cab to get to your place.”

“Actually,” he raises an eyebrow. “How about dinner and watching a show? I happen to have two tickets for that new Broadway production.”

“You happen to have two tickets?” she teases with a circumspect look.

He laughs sheepishly — it’s cute to watch. “Details. What do you say?”

She teasingly pulls his shades down the bridge of her nose and eyes him tentatively. “I say…let’s do this.”

He smiles triumphantly. “How about a glass of wine, now?”

A couple of hours later, the sun is high in the sky, radiating heat generously, laughter of playing children can be heard in the distance. Natasha is lying on her back, Steve on top of her, kissing her softly. Her lips are surprisingly cool, like a refreshing and flavored drink on this particularly warm day. It all started with an innocent peck on the lips, and now, he finds it hard to stop. Or at least, he found it hard to stop a minute ago; now his mind has wandered off completely. She’s the one who breaks the kiss.

“They’re gonna call the cops on us,” she jokes.

He groans softly. “Let’ em. I’m a lawyer,” he murmurs between two kisses.

Her chuckle echoes against his lips.

The familiar beeping sound of a Watch makes them both freeze. They instinctively want to glance at the one around her wrist but a new beeping echoing the first catches their attention. They both look over and watch as a woman sitting against the tree nearby stares speechlessly at the man who has just taken off his jacket to sit on it. The two strangers glance down at their Watches then at each other. It takes them a few seconds to gather their thoughts.

“May I join you?” the man asks. The woman closes her book and smiles bashfully as she nods. He comes to sit under the tree next to her and Steve and Natasha watch as they engage into a conversation that flows effortlessly. A moment later, they’re already laughing in astounding harmony. The easiness of the process is unsettling.

And it dawns on Natasha and Steve like dark cloud rolling in.

“It’s getting chilly,” she says a few minutes later. “Wanna go?”

“You’re right.”

The heavily get on their feet, pick up their plates and glasses and walk away. Steve glances one last time over his shoulder. The two strangers are blending flawlessly among the other couples nearby.

* * *

1 MONTH, 2 DAYS, 14 HOURS, 23 MINUTES

Champagne glasses are clinking under the warm light of the crystal chandelier. All are sumptuously dressed and groomed in the room. Stephen Strange, one of Steve’s illustrious (and cocky) clients has thrown one of his lavish receptions he is famous for in the city. If one could compete with Tony Stark when it comes to extravagant and ridiculously showy parties, it was Strange, no doubt. Some would even let it slip that the doctor’s special evenings are more sophisticated and elegant in the form than Stark’s gaudy parties. And among tonight’s whispers, no doubt, many wonder if the billionaire will make an appearance indeed.

Steve Rogers is standing in his dark tuxedo, his blond hair flawless slicked back. He greets a couple of fellow attorneys also invited and collects the drinks he has just ordered at the bar. His eyes sweep across the room. Natasha is across the room, looking so breathtaking he has to pause. Her bright emerald satin dress draped around the curves harmoniously unfurls with the motions of her body. Her ivory leg teasingly pokes out through the wide slit. Her red hair falls in waves over her back cleavage.

He walks over to her, proudly and maybe boastful, to be her company tonight. He had asked her to be his plus-one a week before and to his surprise, she had said yes right away. Tonight, her very presence dazzles the entire room.

Stephen has already engaged the conversation with her when he arrives at her side.

“Steve, I’m glad you could come,” Strange says with a dashing smile.

“My pleasure. Thanks for the invite,” he answers and hands in the extra glass he is holding to Natasha.

“A dry martini,” Strange muses aloud, gazing at the drink dampening her colored lips. “It’s quite an unusual choice. Bold. I like that.” 

He glances over at Steve and smirks. “I should have known the most stunning and intriguing woman of the evening would be at your arm.”

Natasha eyes him without a word, takes another sip and lowers her glass.

“Is it something you do quite regularly?” she asks him.

Strange lets out a genuine laugh and gently squeezes Steve’s shoulder. “Nothing of the sort, I can assure you. Because he’s the best of us.”

“Stephen, the Deputy Mayor has just arrived,” someone interrupts. He nods and turns his attention back on them.

“Duty calls but I hope you enjoy your evening. Miss Romanoff,” he continues as he takes her hand and kisses her knuckles. “I hope I will soon have the honor to attend one of your concertos.”

And he walks away.

Natasha smirks, taking another sip. “You’re right. He’s cocky.”

Steve snorts softly. “Yeah. He’s a good guy, though.”

Her eyes scan the wide room. “So, do you think Stark will show up?”

He smirks. “It’s hard to predict what Tony will do. Even to Tony himself. He’ll make up his mind at the last minute. As always.”

But Natasha’s attention is now fixed on something else.

“Who’s that?” she asks. He follows her gaze.

A blond woman is chatting among a group of guests, glancing over at them between two smiles. She locks eyes with him and her expression changes. He nervously clears his throat.

The woman excuses herself and walks over to them in her dashing white gown.

Her fingers wrap around her glass. “Steve, it’s nice to see you,” she says, completely ignoring Natasha’s presence. “It’s been too long.”

He smiles coyly. His body slightly pivots towards Nat and he gently lays a hand on her forearm.

“May I introduce you to Natasha. Natasha, this is Sharon.”

The two women officially acknowledge each other.

“Pleased to meet you,” Sharon says a little too dismissively then squeezes Steve’s arm. “We haven’t seen you at the office in ages. Everybody’s missing you.”

He laughs nervously. “I’ve been busy with work.”

“Of course! You’ve made a big name for yourself, now — And I’m happy for you.” She pauses, takes a sip of champagne, then her eyes open wide. “We should catch up someday.”

“Sure. That’s be nice,” he says with a plain smile.

Her smile is quite different. Bigger.

She glances behind her shoulder. “Well, I’ll see you around. I’ll give you a call.” She casts a polite glance at Natasha then leaves.

Nat’s chuckle rings out. “She likes you,” she states simply then has another sip. “Is it an ex?”

“No. Yes,” he pauses, feeling the stare of Natasha over the rim of her glass. “It’s complicated. We worked on a case together once. Many long nights in the office.”

“So you hooked up?”

He raises a finger. “We kissed, that’s all. I mean, she’s nice, dedicated and great at her job. But there was no chemistry there.”

Natasha nods. “I think she’d disagree.”

“Sorry, that was awkward,” he says, wincing.

From small talks to small talks, the night goes on. The crowd is obviously a little louder as the volume tends to grow with the level of alcohol consumption.

Natasha had a couple of more martinis after her one and she is now biting one of the olives off of the pick. Steve is facing, taking on the glorious sight of her. Strange was definitely right: he is the lucky bastard who can brag about having the most beautiful and captivating woman in the room. He noticed all the glances, from envious men and jealous women in the assembly. They all either wanted to be her or have her.

But he has her. And maybe it’s the spirits coming up to his head, but he finds himself wanting to claim her whole. Natasha is eyeing him boldly, seeming to read his thoughts.

“I’m glad you came tonight,” he whispers with a raspy voice, his gaze devouring her.

A smirk tugs at her lips; her eyes are a little hazy from drinking. “I’m glad I came, too. Although there are certainly ways to make this party more fun.”

She clutches his shirt and pulls him closer toward her. He smiles playfully as she leans her back against the wall behind her.

“I’m open to suggestions,” he says.

“Well,” she begins as the tip of her finger dances over the rim of her empty glass. “I don’t think either of them are convenient.”

“No?” he asks with a deeper voice, stepping closer.

She gently steps her foot forward — the slit on her dress opens wider, revealing half of her thigh— and teasingly rubs it against his calf.

“They’re all naughty suggestions,” she chuckles innocently. The contrast between her words and her behavior is arousing. Compelling.

“Color me intrigued. I’m listening.” He leans in closer and his face is only a few inches from her warm neck. Her lips tickle his ear.

“I’ve been wondering if this door is locked or not.” Then she pulls away tantalizingly.

He glances over at the door standing only 6 feet away from them.

“You’ve been?” he repeats. “How long?”

She bites her bottom lip. “Maybe 15 minutes.”

He can feel the excitement rising. “What if it’s not open?”

He looks at her daringly but she is unapologetic. “Then I guess the fun is over.”

He likes where their little game is going.

They slowly make their way toward the door without raising any suspicion from the other guests. They finally reach the frame. A pause. They both gaze at each other brazenly. Eagerly. Both hoping the door is unlocked while their reason wishes it wasn’t. Her arm slowly stretches over the arm, to the door. She wraps her fingers around the knob and twists it. It turns meekly, entirely.

The dark pupils of his eyes widen completely.

“Wait,” she murmurs. “We possibly can’t sneak through that door without catching anyone’s attention. We need a distraction.”

He frowns. She has just made the game a little more complicated. A lot more exciting.

“What kind of distraction?” he asks.

Her mouth is agape, lips parted defiantly. “The loud kind.”

The music from the violinists and other musicians playing for the audience echoes, contradicting all their wildest fantasies. This reception has no room for loud.

“The party can officially begin!” a voice calls out triumphantly. All the audience turns toward the main door.

Tony Stark has just made an entrance in the most expensive tuxedo in the house.

Some people cheer gladly while others roll their eyes and drink up.

“Stark! Glad you could make an appearance,” Strange says with a coy smirk. “You honor us.”

Tony nonchalantly asks the waiter passing by to bring him a whiskey. “Yeah, I thought this party could do with a little entertainment!”

Stephen bursts into insincere laughter.

The banter goes on but two guests are no longer there to watch the rest of it. Steve shuts the door behind him. The room is dim and they cannot see further than what is in their immediate foresight. His lips crush against hers, while his tongue licks and tastes the martini that is on them. He pins her body against him and move forward till a pile of catering crates block their progression. He scoops her up on it and stands between her legs. The slit of her dress can’t hold him back and her entire leg is now out in the open. She clutches her knee against his hip. Her hands unbuckle his belt. Next, he eagerly pressed her down and her back arches as she props herself on her elbows.

Her moans are intoxicating, luring him always closer. He lays down a trail of burning kisses down her throat and her cleavage.

His hand wraps around her exposed knee and slowly glide up her thigh. Reaching the base, his fingers slip under her, teasing her. She lets out a loud moan.

The door suddenly cracks open, casting some light into their room. They both freeze and look up, suppressing their panting.

Sharon is staring numbly.

“I…was looking for the bathroom,” she says faintly, then disappears.

Darkness in the room again. Natasha and Steve, clinging to each other burst into quiet laughter. Both horrified yet amused.

“Well…I don’t think she’ll call,” Steve says and they’re taken by another fit of laughter.

“Now, _this_ is awkward.”

She gazes into his eyes and their chuckles fade. Silence falls upon them for a few seconds. He cups her face softly.

“I want you now,” she murmurs vulnerably. He’s never seen this side of her before.

He nods without a word, reluctant to spoil this moment. She leans in to gaze his lips delicately, sheepishly. Then her mouth opens and her tongue demands more. And he complies.

The door remains shut for several more minutes.

* * *

When they meet again several days later, the memory of that night is still on his skin. He can’t pretend this was not the most erotic moment of his life. And the most meaningful too.

Of all the times they have had sex, he can tell that what had started as another one had turned, undoubtedly, into lovemaking. She gave himself to him that night, almost all of her. He felt it. And surely, she did too.

So as they eat dinner in his penthouse, watching her pensively and taming those thousand thoughts, his eyes fall on her Watch.

He wants her to take it off but he knows he has no right to make such a claim. Who is he to do that? Just a distraction. A regular hook up.

But maybe if he is more.

“Nat,” he says. He’s nervous, afraid of the outcome, yet confident about it. “I want more.”

She furrows her brows, reluctant to understand. “More of what?”

He gestures at her then back at him. “More of this. More of us. I want to be with you, fully. I want to be able to call you my girlfriend when we go to a social gathering together.”

It makes her smile. “You know I don’t want this relationship to have a label.”

It hurts. More than she’ll allow him to admit.

“But what is this relationship, exactly? We both know it has become more than just a distraction.”

She puts the fork down and scratches her temple.

“You got attached. I thought we had agreed not to get attached.”

Those new words sting him further. It makes him angry.

“You got attached, too. You’re just the one choosing to turn a blind eye on it.”

She presses her palms together and closes her eyes.

“Why are you doing this now? You’re ruining everything when we just have little time left.”

“You think I don’t know that?” he exclaims. He points to her wrist with sharp eyebrows. “I get to look at that stupid countdown every moment we spend together knowing that one day it will take you away from me. I can’t fight time. I’ll always lose, no matter what. There is no situation in which I don’t lose.”

She scoffs and frowns. “So this is just a competition? You’re so used to always winning your cases that you can’t accept that there is something you have no say over.”

“This has nothing to do with winning. It’s about losing you,” he pauses, staring at her. “But it’s true. I have no say over it. You do.”

He takes a deep breath in. His eyes begin to gleam. “Take it off. Please. I’ll make you happy.”

She eyes him fixedly, and a tear rolls down her cheek.

“You’re so selfish. It’s easy for you. But you never would have taken off yours if you could have Peggy.”

The last thing he expected was to hear this name. So remote now.

“I would have taken it off.”

“You can’t know that!”

“I DO BECAUSE I LOVe you,” he trails off. They stare at each other from across the table. He certainly didn’t mean it to come out this way.

But now that it is out.

His hands fall to his waist. “Peggy is just a name. A maybe. I love you Natasha Romanoff and this is the one thing I am certain about. I’d trade a lifetime with Peggy for a chance to make it work with you, in a heartbeat.”

Her face is numb and clueless. She wipes her hand over her moist cheek. “I know what the Watch means to you. And you’re right, I am selfish. But I’m asking you to be selfish too. If you choose the Watch because it is what _you_ truly want, I’ll step away, forever, I promise. But if you’re choosing it because you think it’s what your father would have wanted then we will both lose.”

She protectively lays the fabric of her sleeve over the face of her Watch and walks over to the couch, grabs her jacket and heads toward the door.

She puts the key on the piece of furniture nearby.

“Goodbye, Steve.”

And the door shuts in a deafening silence.

_3 WEEKS, 4 DAYS, 16 HOURS, 54 MINUTES_

* * *

The days go by and Natasha has disappeared from his world. Even her perfume on the sheet has faded, the empty rooms scream the absence of her laughter. He cannot bring himself to rip up the page from his sketchbook — he isn’t ready to tear her out of his life yet — nor can he look at it. The book lies aimlessly in one of his drawers.

He tries to throw himself into work instead. It’s difficult, almost impossible at first, but each passing day further drills this cumbersome truth into his head. She chose the Watch. Whatever she felt for him did not stand a chance against the love of a father. He can’t blame her for that.

He declines all the invitations to go for a drink with his associates but eventually, he accepts. Time, as it has cruelly made its point, doesn’t stop for anyone. All he can do is move along. But the drinks are bland and the conversations are dull.

He calls it a night a lot earlier than convenience allows and takes a cab home. Rain is sheeting down over New York City but the air is warm, heavy. The only evidence it is May.

He looks through the window at the endless road swiftly passing by.

The cab eventually pulls over in front of his block. It is still raining heavily and he has no umbrella. Nobody in New York City has one at hand right now. He tips the driver and steps out. He hurries to the main entrance and takes his security badge out.

“Steve,” a voice calls softly.

He turns. Natasha is standing in the rain, soaking wet. She must have been waiting out here for a while.

He doesn’t dare speak a word.

She presses her lips together.

“I thought about taking off the Watch but it was the hardest thing to do…until I realized a few days later that losing you was far harder. And this whole thing wasn’t about choosing you or choosing the Watch; it was about choosing me.”

The deep frown on his forehead washes off under rainwater.

“And what _I_ want is to be with you.”

Her hand gently lifts the sleeve of her jacket. The wrist is bare, freed from its shackle.

She runs to him and wraps her arms around him. Her tears blend with the raindrops falling down her face.

“I love you too, Steve Rogers.”

He kisses the top of her head and they hug in the pouring rain. Everything else can wait. Time has no bound on them anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting! I'll update soon!


	4. Chapter 4

Since that rainy day, things between Steve and Natasha have been perfect, and so much lighter. She is all his and he is all hers, and each new day that goes by further confirms this.

For the first time in a long while, Natasha can say she is happy and fulfilled. She feels no lack or regret. Choosing Steve is her boldest decision in a long time but not one based on a whim either. One that makes sense and feels natural.

But, as the days go, what was just an intrusive thought has kept on lingering. She may have gotten rid of the Watch but time remains on its course. She may not be able to stop it but she can dodge it.

Standing in her bedroom, her eyes are fixed on the countdown rolling on the dial between her fingers.

_5 DAYS, 3 HOURS, 19 MINUTES, 41 SECONDS_

Steve invited her to meet his family on Saturday but she hastily declined. Less than the common stress of meeting your boyfriend’s relatives, she didn’t want to risk going out and coming face-to-face with the person that was to set off her Watch. So she decides not to go out at all until the countdown would hit zero and the whole system deactivate.

Steve did not suspect a thing as she put the blame on work, pretending she has a lot of rehearsals and meetings to attend.

She grows tense as every our dangerously draws her closer to the final outcome.

On the fifth day, she is sitting on the rug at the foot of her bed, legs folded up under her chin. The screen of her phone lighting up diverts her attention.

_I miss you_

She reads Steve’s words then flips the phone over, then her eyes dart back to the Watch lying at her feet, dial up.

_12 MINUTES, 6 SECONDS_

She doesn’t dare blink or shift as if one wrong move from her could negatively impact the countdown. Her heartbeat, with a similar pace as the seconds passing by on the dial at first, has quickened significantly. There isn’t a single sound in the apartment. Just the coming and going of her ragged breathing while she tries to defect her fate.

_1 MINUTE, 35 SECONDS_

Unfounded fears begin to cloud her clear reasoning. What will happen when the countdown reaches zero? It isn’t like someone will knock at her door, right?

_59 SECONDS_

_Her stomach tenses, becomes as hard as a rock: it’s almost difficult to breathe._

_45 SECONDS_

She clutches her arms around her legs even tighter, her gaze locked on the digits in the most twisted enthrallment.

_20 SECONDS_

She could swear she can hear the soundless ticking of the countdown bang against the walls of her brain, driving her sanity to the edge.

_10 SECONDS_

She made her choice. It may not be the good choice, but it’s the one that does right by her.

_8 SECONDS_

She loves Steve. That shouldn’t leave room to doubt.

_7 SECONDS_

But why is anxiety peaking right now?

_6 SECONDS_

What if it comes back to bite her in the ass?

_5 SECONDS_

If there is one thing life taught her is that you can never run away from what it has planned for you?

Just like a jolt back into reality, her phone buzzes again reminding her to open the text she received earlier. Like Steve calling her back to him.

_4 SECONDS_

She feels confident and secure again.

_3 SECONDS_

Resolute _._ But she has a thought for her father. She hopes he is proud of her despite yet another act of defiance.

_2 SECONDS_

Her eyelids shut tight as she waits for the beep to toll the bells. After a few seconds during which she has been holding her breath, she realizes the room is still grounded in stillness. Not the shadow of a sound.

She cracks her lids open and glances down at the dial. She furrows her brows as she sees the countdown is frozen on the final 2 seconds to the end. She carefully picks it up and inspects the item.

She even taps on the glass.

Nothing. 

After another moment of uncertainty and confusion, the dial fades to black. She presses the buttons on the side but the Watch won’t switch on.

It is over.

She clutches the watch in her hand as a sob comes out of her lips, along with all the tension she has been carrying for the past week. And to some extent, for the past years she has been wearing the Watch.

She buries her face in her knees and bursts into tears.

It takes her a couple more days to bring herself to go outside. After looking one last time at the dial and finding it black, she buries it deep under layers of clothing in her chest of drawers and steps out into the world. She begins with the coffee shop down the street. All while ordering a cappuccino, she dreads to hear the sound of a Watch in her vicinity. But she won’t let herself be bound down by fear. She boldly sits at one of the tables and sips her drink with a wary look.

It is her first victory against fate.

The next day, she heads to the auditorium to rehearse for her next concerto. Another successful and safe excursion. Then nearly a whole week goes by and soon, she breaks free of the ghost of the Watch.

She invites Steve over for dinner. The indelible smile on his face betrays his elation about being allowed into her home, and officially into her life.

Before dessert, they are making love as a final way to claim her fully in her own territory. Their exhausted bodies tangled under the sheet in the pitch-dark room, Steve is asleep in her arms. She peacefully strokes his golden locks of hair. Her eyes fall on the third drawer by the corner and she forgets to recall it is where the deactivated Watch is.

She falls asleep shortly after, lulled by the echo of his heartbeat against her chest.

* * *

The following weekend, they are driving on the sunny roads to the Hamptons in his convertible. Steve asked her to go with him to the family barbecue. It is officially their first weekend getaway together.

Natasha was nervous at first of course, but he had found the words to reassure her, saying his mother is very eager to meet her. And what not, she, too, wanted to be introduced to his family.

The urban landscape has faded and rows of trees stand along the road. Natasha is wearing a long summer dress with flat sandals. She has pulled the fabric up above her knees and put her feet up on the dashboard to give her legs a tan. The hot sun rays gleam over her skin. She is humming along with the song playing in the music player.

“You have pretty good taste…for a lawyer,” she comments nonchalantly as she pulls her shades down the bridge of her nose.

“Ouch, I guess I can’t object to that,” he answers with a smile.

They both laugh heartily. “You did not just make that lame legal joke,” she exclaims.

He arches an eyebrow and glances at her with an unapologetic playful expression. “Sue me.”

She slaps his square shoulder with the back of her hand and rolls her eyes.

“This embarrassing banter is over.”

He scoffs and turns his attention back to the road.

They talk about everything and nothing with great enjoyment — it never ceases to amaze her how they never run out of topics to discuss. And what she loves the most is that they chat and laugh together like two best friends.

At some point, his fingers reach over to her leg and brush up her thigh, further rolling up the dress. He rests his hand on her lap, his thumb stroking up and down over her skin.

Nearly 50 minutes later, they enter the Hamptons and drive along the emerald green pastures stretching ahead. Steve eventually drives through the gate of a luxury real estate and pulls over in the large alleyway. The tires rumble softly over the gravel. The fancy building towers over her. Steve turns the engine off and leans in to cup her face.

“They’re gonna love you,” he says softly then pecks her lips. He comes out of the car and goes to open the trunk and collect their bags while she hesitantly opens the car door and takes her first steps onto this unknown territory.

The main door opens and a woman in her fifties, dressed in a casual work uniform, comes out with a wide smile.

“Steve!” she says as she gives him a hug.

“It’s great to see you, Maria.”

“I baked you a lemon drizzle cake — your favorite.”

He smiles. “Only you know how to win me over,” he answers with a smirk then turns toward her. “This is Natasha.”

Maria has a warm smile that is contagious.

“At last. We are all so excited to meet you,” she says, kissing her cheeks enthusiastically.

She next returns to Steve to collect the bags from him but he declines.

“Your mom is waiting on the patio and you don’t know in which room to drop the bags.”

“Probably the blue one, as usual,” he says as they walk into the house. The decoration isn’t as flashy as one would expect, but fancy nonetheless.

Maria crosses her arms and pouts. “The white one, actually.”

“Wow, the white room?” he glances at Natasha and smiles. “She really wants to make a big hit with you.”

Maria sneakily snatches the bags off of his grip. “Just go to the patio.”

“Actually, is it ok if I come with you? I’d like to freshen up — it won’t be long.”

She brushes his arm. “You go say hi to your mother and I’ll be down in a minute.”

Natasha disappears upstairs, closely behind Maria. He takes off his sunglasses and walks over the hall to the backyard. He finds his mother sitting on the patio, chatting with her husband standing behind her, hand resting on her shoulder.

Her face lights up. “Steve, honey!”

She stands up and holds him tight. “It’s so good to see you. Look at you, dashing as ever.”

Her smells in the soothing perfume in her hair and closes his eyes. “I missed you too, mom.” She squeezes his arms and glances over at her husband.

The man, tall and elegant, with a slim face and a grey beard, steps closer. They shake hands.

“Good to see you, Steve.”

“You too, George.”

“So where is she?” Sarah exclaims, looking behind him.

“She’ll be down in a minute.” He starts to get nervous as he is hit by the realization the two most important women in his life are about to meet.

“Relax, dear.”

He nods. “I know, I know. It’s just…she means a lot to me.”

Sarah smiles. “I know that. Which is why she means a lot to me, too. To all of us.”

The sound of her shoes echoes behind them. Natasha walks up to them, hands clasped together.

The two women greet each other, then so does George. Sarah squeezes Natasha’s hands.

“We’re so pleased to meet you. God, I want to know everything about you.”

She feels Steve’s gaze on her and she shakes her head with a laugh. “But I shan’t! There’s time for this.”

Maria brings a platter with drinks.

“Your brother got some last-minute work thing to deal with and is still on the roads. He said he’ll be here by 2 pm.”

“The grill isn’t set up yet, anyway,” George says with a smile.

“You’ll be handling it?” Steve asks.

“Of course. Nobody grills ribs like I do.”

They sit around the table and begin to chat.

Past noon, Maria calls up Sarah for some catering arrangements.

“Don’t mind us, mom. I’m taking Nat for a walk.”

“Lovely idea,” she says and goes into the house.

Steve gets up, walks over to Natasha and takes her hand. Together they walk down the yard, past the pool to the small gate leading up to the beach. Natasha takes off her shoes and they begin to stroll on the sand. The small waves tickle her feet as they walk hand in hand.

After several minutes, they eventually sit down in an isolated area, away from the properties, surrounded by tall leaves, gazing at the deep blue ocean.

“Your family is very nice,” she says. “And your mom seems happy.”

The motion of the ocean reflects onto his blue eyes.

“She is. George is a good husband to her. Our lives changed drastically when they met. We left our small Brooklyn apartment so we could all make one big happy family. A few years later, he bought this house. I only stayed a few months before I went to law school.”

“How about your brother?”

“He owns an art gallery in Boston. He’s successful and an artist — I think you’ll like that about him —he’s the pride of the family.”

“Do you guys get along? You don’t really talk about him.”

He nods musingly. “We used to be very close. We grew up together as brothers. But then life drifted us apart…made us take different paths. Things got somewhat complicated.”

She looks at him with a soft, understanding expression.

“I get it. But nothing is set in stone. Your paths may cross again and life could draw you back together.”

“Yeah. I know mom would like that.”

She entwines her fingers tightly with his own. His expression turns lighter. “Speaking of which, she likes you too. You worked your magic on her.”

Natasha chuckles. “Ah please, I hardly did anything. Sarah is kind-hearted — she just welcomed me into her circle. Probably because she noticed the heart eyes you were giving me.”

He frowns. “I did not do such a thing!”

Nat scoffs. “Pretty sure we all noticed you kept staring at me.”

He bites his bottom lip and smiles coyly. He leans in and kisses her lips chastely. Their eyes open and dive into one another. He kisses her again, more demandingly this time. His upper body pivots and leans over her. He lays her down on the foliage bed and brushes her red curls.

His mouth gently moves against hers, teases her lips with the tip of his tongue then playfully bites her lip.

“That I did,” he whispers. “But only because I kept thinking about the moment I would slip that outrageously alluring dress off of you.”

His hand roams over the light fabric across her stomach.

“With your mom around? Men can be so pervy.”

He snorts and pauses as the back of his hand strokes her cheekbone tenderly. “Would you believe it if I said I’m not usually like this? You just rouse new emotions I am not familiar with.”

His hand slides down the nape of her neck and his thumb glazes over the strap of her dress, and pulls it down, baring her shoulder. “They certainly are thrilling to explore,” he smiles unabashedly.

She looks up at him with a beguiled expression, docile and keen. Her naked throat calls to him and he buries his face into it, blazing a trail of kisses along her collarbone.

She wishes this make-out session could last forever. 

* * *

They’re back to the property with the most innocent expression — even the flush on their cheeks from a few moments earlier has waned completely.

George is blazing meat on the big barbecue grill by the patio while the entire table is covered with various dishes, all very appetizing.

Steve picks an olive and chews on it. He pours some wine and brings her a glass.

“To this weekend,” he says to her as he clinks their glasses.

Sarah comes and slips her arm under hers and pulls her away for a friendly chat. After a few minutes, an unfamiliar voice is heard.

“Sorry, I’m late. Are the burgers ready yet?”

Natasha glances over and sees the newcomer is hidden behind Steve’s figure as they greet and chat.

Both Sarah and she make their way to them.

“Nat,” Steve says, pulling her to him. “This is my brother—.”

The sound of repeated beeps stridently goes off across the patio. The soft ringing is deafening. All freeze in daunting silence as the Watch around his wrist lights up.

_MATCH FOUND_

The words get carved in everyone’s numb minds. 

She has just been introduced to George’s son, James Buchanan Barnes.

Her soulmate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to get...complicated.
> 
> Share your impressions and predictions below!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the update!

Grilling meat is the only background sound that fills the steel atmosphere. Steve’s step-brother glances down at his Watch then back at Natasha.

She feels Steve’s arm wrap around her waist. She can feel his entire body tense up next to her.

James runs his fingers through his hair and clears his throat nervously.

“I’m James,” he says as he holds his hand out to her.

Her throat is tight — it’s almost painful to breathe. She stares down at his hand, anxious to process with this physical contact. Her hand is almost trembling when she lifts it. She shakes his hand loosely, almost fearfully. Steve’s gaze is weighing down on this short exchange.

“Natasha.”

James keeps a placid expression but an intrigued smile pierces through, betrays him. He still hasn’t let go of her hand.

“Bucky,” Steve mutters under his breath with hard features.

Her stomach has rapidly twisted and convoluted in vicious knots. And the tension rising only makes it worse.

Sarah steps in with her best made-up smile and pulls James into a hug.

“How are things in Boston?” she asks, trying to ignore the cold stares the two brothers are sharing.

James is the first to surrender and diverts his eyes to his step-mother. “It’s lovely to see you, Sarah.”

Natasha spins around and retreats toward the table. She presses a weak hand on her raging stomach. It takes effort to breathe in the proper amount of air.

She can hear James chatting with George in the background and the sound of his voice is daunting. A wave of heat surges up and cloaks her completely. Her vision begins to blurry slightly. There is a sour taste on her tongue.

“Please excuse me a moment,” she breathes out as collectedly as possible and quickly exits the patio, rushing past Steve. She runs across the room to get to the bathroom. She locks the door behind her; her temples are damped in sweat.

She raises the toilet lid and leans over. All her anxiety, concerns, and guilt spur out. She is still throwing up when she hears a knock on the bathroom door.

“Nat, are you alright?” Steve calls from outside.

She flushes the toilet and wipes her mouth with paper. She feels exhausted. Drained out at the prospect of what is to come next. Thinking she could be the fuse that could blow the two brothers — the family— apart is making her sick again.

Steve tries to pull the handle and sighs. “Nat, open the door.”

She goes to the door and presses her forehead against the wooden surface. She can almost feel the palm of his hand pressed on the other side.

* * *

The weekend is cut short and so is the barbecue. And the ride back to New York is quiet. Heavy. Her mind is focused on one thing and it makes the journey interminable.

She wants to go home so he takes her to her place. He puts the bags down next to the entrance and falls onto the couch while she rushes to the bedroom. She closes the door and heads to the chest of drawers with shaky hands. She digs the Watch out and flips it over to look at the dial.

Her heart skips a beat. The Watch is on again and the words are glowing brightly.

_MATCH FOUND_

Hey eyes shut as she takes a deep breath in. She understands the Watch must have reactivated at some point. And as it dawns on her that the initial countdown was set for the day Steve first invited her to meet his family she realizes she was always meant to meet James. And Steve was simply the intermediary. Apparently falling for him is just a mishap along the way. A tear quietly slides down her cheek.

They order food for dinner but they can’t eat anything. They escape the unbearable situation through trivial conversations.

Things get quiet again after she comes out of the shower. They lie in bed, switch off the lights, and gaze into the abyssal obscurity surrounding them.

She wishes she could just sleep it off, send off this long day into exile, but sleep won’t indulge her despite the physical weariness and mental exhaustion.

Steve is lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. His mind seems lost in a maze of thoughts.

“Am I going to lose you?” He says, breaking the imperious silence.

She turns to look at him. His posture hasn’t changed, eyes locked on the ceiling, but his gaze is breaking. Tumbling into despair.

She furrows her brows and reaches his hand lying on his stomach.

“Of course not,” she murmurs.

He remains motionless. Uncertain. She squeezes his hand for attention in vain.

She shifts over to straddle him and leans over to hold his face, forcing eye contact.

“You won’t lose me.”

His eyes eventually shift to meet hers.

“You don’t know that,” he says. How can he possibly stand a chance against an unfailing algorithm? How can he possibly stand a chance against Bucky, everyone’s favorite?

Her voice breaks as her eyes fill up with hot tears.

“Listen to me, Steve Rogers. You are not going to lose me,” she says resolutely, leaning down closer. “You are the best thing that’s happened to me — I could never trade that.”

The only thing that scares her is that she hurts his family. This is something she could not bear or tolerate.

“Do you trust me?” she asks, holding back her tears. His pupils are gleaming, too. He nods. She caresses his face with her thumbs and leans down to press her lips on his forehead.

She slightly moves down to lie down and buries her face into his neck. He wraps her in his arms and presses his cheek against her head.

They finally drift off to sleep.

* * *

After a few days, things have resumed a sense of normalcy. Natasha is giving the concerto she has been rehearsing for.

Dressed in an elegant evening gown, she goes on stage, faces her audience and greets them. She catches sight of Steve clapping with a proud smile. She smiles at him then walks over to the piano.

She sits down on the bench and the fabric of her dress beautifully cascades down. The room turns solemnly silent. Her fingers begin to waltz across the keyboard, plunging the entire room in meek amazement.

The world around her fades completely as her hands relentlessly stroke the keys. In this moment, all her worries disappear, disintegrate completely in the notes swirling to the roof. The vibrations travel along the strings to her fingertips and echo through her entire body, ascending her to unattainable heights.

Steve is watching, dazzled and loving, incapable of diverting his eyes away from that riveting sight. It’s the first time he discovers her in this environment, like an oyster cracking open to reveal the most lustrous pearl. He is astounded that the star shining on stage right now, the one whom all the eyes in the theatre are locked on, is his.

When she hits the last notes, the audience erupts into applause. She smiles to herself and stands up. She walks closer to the edge and bows, then presses her hands together as she thanks her audience. Someone comes on stage and gives her flowers. Her eyes seek him through the crowd. He raises his hands a little higher and claps louder, conveying all his pride in a heartfelt smile.

The clapping slowly dies down — she bows down one last time, then heads off stage. As the audience gets in motion, Steve glances behind him and catches a glimpse of a familiar figure walking away that makes his entire body tense. But soon the center aisle fills up and the silhouette disappears into the crowd.

He collects himself and makes his way backstage. He finds Natasha surrounded by her team and other special guests giving her hearty congratulations. Her face lights up upon seeing him.

She walks over to him and pecks his lips.

He pauses and reflects on the evening.

“That was…,” he trails off and smiles. “Nat, you were amazing.”

She stands on her toes to kiss him again.

Her agent comes over and reminds them the after-party has already begun.

They get there twenty minutes later — the guests cheer upon Natasha’s arrival. Champagne is brought to them and all raise their glasses. Next, they move around the room to converse with the various people.

Maria Hill comes over and hugs Natasha. “Nat, that was fantastic! Tony couldn’t make it tonight but he sends, I quote, his unreserved felicitations.”

The three of them snort. “Well, you’ll tell him thanks.”

Maria takes a sip of champagne and shakes her head. “In all seriousness, though. Tony wants to invest more in you and your talent. It’s time to aim big.”

“What do you mean big?”

Maria glances at Steve and smirks cockily.

“Big as in a world tour.”

Natasha puts her hand on her chest. “Oh my God, this is…,” she laughs, “this is big.”

Maria arches her eyebrow. “Yup.”

“Natasha Romanoff, you’re about to become a star.” She moves her glass up to clink Natasha’s. “Let me tell Ruth about it.”

And Maria rushes across the room to find her agent.

Natasha turns to him with an ecstatic expression. “A tour,” she nearly squeals.

It makes him smile. “Nobody deserves it more.”

She pauses, looking suddenly very contemplative. “I’ll need new symphonies. Ruth won’t let me off the hook if I don’t present her new pieces,” she muses out loud.

He watches as her restless gaze seem to mentally list all the work that needs to be done. Neither notices the guest approaching.

“Congratulations on your performance tonight,” the man says, imposingly standing in front of them.

They both freeze upon the sight of the unexpected visitor. Steve clenches his jaw.

Natasha is disconcerted.

“James?” she murmurs weakly, questioning her own senses.

He smiles a dashing smile. “Natasha,” he says with a slight nod.

She’s at a loss for words. Steve isn’t.

“What are you doing here?” he asks bluntly.

Bucky slowly takes his eyes off of her to look at his step-brother.

“Well, you guys left so hastily last weekend. And I heard Natasha was giving a concerto so I thought it would be a nice opportunity to catch up.”

“You heard?” Steve mutters with a frown. Bucky ignores the comment.

He simply smiles and looks at Natasha again. His entire body pivots in her direction, almost shutting Steve away.

“I thought there was a bold gentleness in your music,” he tells her. “The way you play. It’s both vulnerable and empowering. Absolutely captivating.”

Steve rolls his eyes.

Natasha tugs a lock of her hair behind her ear and nods sheepishly.

“Th-thanks,” she answers cordially but slightly withdrawn. She repeatedly casts glances to Steve, sensitive to his stiffness and emotional unease.

“May I ask what musicians have been an influence on your music?” he continues.

She is about to answer when Ruth interrupts.

“Natasha, some guests would like to be introduced to you,” the woman says, taking her arm and pulling her away with gentle force. Nat excuses herself to the two men fighting for her attention and disappears across the room.

Steve comes to stand tall in front of James. Shoulders and jaw square.

“You’re overstepping, Bucky. Remember she’s my girlfriend,” he says in a raspy voice.

James furrows his brows with a haughty and defensive expression. “ _You_ are the one overstepping here. You went after her when you knew she wasn’t even yours to take — I’m sure there is a legal word for that," he feigns to muse sarcastically. "Now that it’s all come to light, I have every right to claim her back.”

“She’s not an object,” he says hardly.

“Indeed. That’s why it’s not up to you, or either of us. In the end, the choice is hers. And you have no say over that.”

The two men stare coldly into each other’s eyes. Natasha’s approaching steps forces the tension to drop. She takes her spot back next to Steve and brushes his arm softly. She notices how his eyes are glued on his brother despite her return.

James is imperturbable to the hostile gaze, almost familiar to it and detached.

“I better shoot off,” he says confidently, not at all capitulating but simply strolling away after entering a foreign territory and marking it just enough to leave his scent to linger until he returns at a later time. A temporary exit. Slowly taming the hostile land he has decided to annex.

Steve recognizes the smirk tugged at the corner of his lips for having seen it many times before. This isn’t the last he sees of him.

Bucky wraps his fingers around Natasha’s hand and slowly brings it to his lips. He lingeringly presses them on her knuckles making Steve’s blood boil inside in silent anger.

Next, Bucky leaves the room with the insurmountable satisfaction of having struck a blow. He may not have won Natasha yet but he has begun to weaken his rival’s foundation.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Shorter chapter but I had to get this one out of the way or I would never move on!

A few days later, Natasha is leaving rehearsals at a fast pace, her book of symphonies clutched under the arm, talking on the phone with Ruth.

“I know my meeting with Stark is tomorrow,” she breathes out, stepping onto the busy sidewalk.

She halts when her eyes fall on James standing by the side of the road. He is casually but elegantly dressed in dark jeans and shirt with rolled-up sleeves. He takes off his shades and smiles as he slowly approaches.

She releases the breath she was holding. “Ruth, I’ll have to call you back, ok?”

“Hello, Natasha,” he says. “I hope you won’t take my waiting here the wrong way.”

She blinks. “Not at all. Only surprised. I thought you were back in Boston.”

“I have a couple of exhibitions to go to, and some meetings, that are keeping me in New York for the next week. I’m staying at a hotel in Manhattan.”

She nods. “Does Steve know you’re here?”

James cracks a slightly devilish smile. “Not yet. I’m not sure Steve would see this with a good eye.” He pauses and glances around with a more light-hearted demeanor. “Anyway, I haven’t had lunch yet and I’m not exactly a local. Perhaps you could suggest a good place to try.” He waits for a response, but getting none, smiles sheepishly. “Or just a walk. I don’t have bad intentions — I’d just like to get to know you a little.”

She nervously rubs the corner of her eyebrow. There is no harm in having a chat, right? And she has no reason to hurt his feelings unfairly. “Sure. I guess I have time for a walk.”

“Great,” he says and politely gestures for her to take the lead.

She grins a little awkwardly and gets moving.

They first walk down the avenue in absolute muteness, finding comfort in the surrounding city noises to fill up the uncomfortable silence. Their urge to initiate a friendly talk is held down by the apprehension to mess it up. What are even the right words in such a situation? There is no book or guideline to handle it right.

James’ eyes sneakily wander over to her as they walk.

“Working on new pieces?” he asks after clearing his throat. He points at her partition book.

“Yeah. Nothing conclusive, though.”

He nods. “I know what it’s like. For me, it usually means my brain is louder than my heart. I can only paint again after I’ve quieted my thoughts.”

She turns pensive, reflecting on his words. “Yeah, I guess. Does it happen to you a lot?”

He shrugs. “Sometimes,” he trails off and smiles. “But not at the moment.”

She raises an eyebrow, almost numb. How can he have a mind of steel at such complicated times?

“Why not?” she asks, torn between amazement and mild judgment.

He looks at her closely. “Because I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be in my life. Right now.”

His piercing blue eyes seek a breach through her armor. She pauses as he smiles and resumes walking.

Twenty minutes later, hopping from one casual conversation to another, they arrive at Bethesda Fountain. They stopped on the way for hot-dogs and some soda.

“Ok, now…if you could only choose one movie to watch for the rest of your life, which one would it be?”

They have been discussing their favorites and he managed to narrow down her list to two: _City Lights_ or _Singin’ In The Rain_.

She drops her head back and lets out a grunt of agony before laughing. He is giggling along and bites into his hot dog.

She takes a long, thoughtful sip of soda. “That’ll have to be _City Lights_.”

He feigns to gasp in outrage, triggering a new fit of chuckles. “I know, I know. But I’m a sucker for Chaplin’s movies. Besides, it’s a beautiful love story about seeing beyond appearances and expectations. That’s universal.”

His gaze turns contemplative for a few seconds. Then, he nods. “Fair enough. I’m sure Gene Kelly would give you a pass.”

They reach the main square and sit on the edge of the fountain. It is a sunny, warm day in New York. It is strange, terrifying, how the awkwardness from earlier has vanished completely. Like weeds that could not germinate because they could not find unkempt ground to plant roots in. Other seeds, though, had no issue burgeoning.

That unforced familiarity is as unsettling as it is intriguing. Dangerously addictive too.

Time freezes, dissolves completely, as the two catch up like old mates meeting again.

She watches him surreptitiously, engrossed. She sees a lot of Steve in him, and vice versa, as she’s getting to know James. As different as they are, she sees mostly their similarities and the many splintered things that make each the extension of the other.

And she begins to wonder what has drawn them apart somehow.

“What are you thinking?” James asks, pulling her back to reality.

“Nothing,” she answers with a light smile.

“I can see there’s something.”

She casts him a dubious glance. “Can you? I didn’t know I was so easy to read.”

He smiles. “I don’t know how I know. I just do. Maybe it is just me, but around you, things are just obvious. They flow naturally.” He pauses and plunges his gaze into her eyes. “I don’t pretend I can explain it.”

His blue steel eyes become too much to handle and she looks away. “Well, it’s not easy right now to read you.”

He flashes a broad smile. “I’m an open book. Ask away! So long as I get a question, too.”

Fair deal.

She is hesitant at first, fearing she may be intruding in a matter that does not concern her. But curiosity gets the best of her.

“What happened between you two?” she asks, chin propped on her fist, her full attention turned toward him.

James’ expression turns a little stern. Wistful even, maybe. He rubs the bottom of his chin and clears his throat.

“There isn’t really an event that I could pinpoint. We were close — very— and then we just stopped. We grew apart.”

She nods. “It’s funny. Those were almost his exact words.”

James glances blankly ahead. “I guess this proves we’re not so different after all.”

“Not at all,” she answers musingly. Maybe it would have made things easier if she could have labeled him the bad brother. It would have given her a good reason to dislike him. But life is never that easy.

She rubs her palms together. “So, what’s your question?”

Her heartbeat irrationally quickens in anticipation. He probes her quietly for what it feels endless seconds, then the corner of his mouth goes up.

“I’ll wait a little longer. It’s not the right time yet.”

She frowns at first, but hearing the word time pulls her out of this new mind enigma. She glances at her phone screen.

“It’s getting late and I must shoot off,” she says with an apologetic pout.

James smiles. “I better go, too.”

He flips over his hot dog paper tray, pulls out a pen and gribbles on it. He then folds it in two and hands it to her.

“Thank you for giving me a chance, Natasha. Now I can’t resist pushing my luck some more and hope you’ll give me another one.”

She reads the phone number written on the paper card. “I would be pleased if you reached out. For chatting or more.”

She doesn’t answer because she doesn’t know where she stands.

They both get up and look at each other.

“I intend to tell Steve about this afternoon," she says calmly. "But I think he should hear you’re in New York from his brother first.”

James nods quietly with a grin and he watches as she walks away. She unfolds the card and finds there is an extra note:

_I can see now_

A quote from ‘City Lights’, written elegantly in black ink.

When Natasha brings up their encounter to Steve, he composedly says he has already been made aware. But the stone-hard frown across his forehead betrays how he feels about it.

Despite her total honesty, part of her can’t help but feel she was not entirely truthful. She goes to sleep with an uneasy conscience, although she can’t identify what she is guilty of.


	7. Chapter 7

She nervously squeezes the strap of her purse as she stands on the front steps of the white-painted building.

She walked past it for the first time a couple of days before — or at least she noticed the sign on the door which, in other circumstances never would have called to her.

The launching of the Watch had been ground-breaking socially but such an invention came with downsides, too. Serious ones. Shortly after being released to the public, group talks began to emerge until they became as common as any AA meetings.

She wasn’t sure what drew her to that group — or even if she belonged there — and despite brushing off the idea at first, it germinated deep within her mind and grew till long, tangled roots spread all over.

And now that she is staring at the sign, with the door agape in an invitation, the uncertainty isn’t stronger than her eagerness to walk through that door.

She pushes it and goes up the dim staircase. A paper with a big black arrow printed on it invites her to turn right. Down the hallway, a wooden door with a glass square is open.

About ten people are sitting on chairs set in a big circle. One of them gets up, shakes her hand, and welcomes her to the group.

She doesn’t speak for the first 40 minutes, listening to the many stories that have probably been shared a dozen times over.

There is Laura, 43, mother of 3, whose husband left her for his assistant.

“I mean, the boss sleeping with his secretary is a tale as old as time, but how could I guess she’d be his soulmate?”

Beth, 51, whose soulmate is a 26-year-old man. Their Watches beeped 8 months ago at the supermarket. Their respective families aren’t taking it so well. His, especially.

Nolan, 27, engaged to his high-school sweetheart. They decided to buy a Watch to reinforce their love. His beeped when he met his new coworker the following Monday. Colin.

“How do I know I’m even gay?”

Jaquan, 22, young and adventurous, ready to win hearts. He bought the Watch because it sounded cool, positive it wouldn’t beep until he nears 30. According to the timer, he is only 6 weeks away.

Camille, 33, flamboyant hair and bright sneakers, has been happily dating Julia for the past 4 months until the Watch her parents offered her on her birthday said her soulmate is Alexandra, her BFF.

Gabriella, 27, has been saving up for marriage. She bought herself the Watch when she turned 18. Her match, Mateo, 30, has been nothing but amazing. But the idea of taking the plunge has been scarier than she thought.

Pete, 37, matched with Meredith, 35, last year. She’s funny, beautiful and has a brilliant career. The problem is their political divergences.

“I can’t possibly be with someone who voted for a bigoted millionaire with dangerously limited vocabulary and a burger fetish! I don’t care that it’s written in the stars!”

Those are some of the complicated stories Natasha heard. 10 minutes before the end, Jim, who leads the group and greeted her earlier, turns to her.

“Maybe you would like to tell us about your Watch-ache. What brought you here?”

She blinks numbly. She openly becomes the center of attention and the furtive, curious glimpses from earlier have turned into blunt stares.

“You’re safe here, sweetie,” Nolan says with a reassuring nod.

“That’s the gayest thing you’ve ever said here,” Camille remarks after blowing a bubble with her gum. 

Nolan looks daggers at her.

“Only if she’s ready,” Jim intervenes with collected authority.

“Take your time, darling,” Beth chimes in with a soothing motherly tone.

“We still want new hot tea, though,” Jaquan mutters under his breath.

Natasha shakes her head. “I am not sure my story belongs here,” she begins.

Jim nods understandingly but with the slight grin of someone who has heard those words a hundred times before. “It’s alright. Talking it out is what truly matters, regardless of what ‘it’ is.”

She takes a breath in and leans over.

“I met this guy 3 months ago. Perfect in every way. Except he wasn’t the one. I decided to give it a shot — keep it casual — until the time to end things comes.” Laura and Gabriella share a look. “But now the Watch says I’m supposed to be with his brother.”

“Oh my God!” Nolan squeals.

“Whoa,” Jaquan hollers quietly from his seat.

It seems the entire room silently voted that her story is the worst. She gulps down nervously.

“Step-brother,” she corrects but it doesn’t fool anyone.

“This Watch is the Devil,” Laura exclaims.

“I thought we’d established this group talk is completely religion-free,” Pete grumbles, one leg folded over his knee.

“I had some satanic rituals in my teenage emo phase and I remember those were pretty lit,” Camille sniggers from her seat.

Jim shushes the group with his hand. “It sounds tricky,” he says, turning to Natasha. “I’m sorry. How have you been dealing with the situation?”

“Steve…my boyfriend…has been having trouble with it, understandably. And then James reached out…he says I owe our connection that I get to know him but— I don’t know— it’s just… What’s the right thing to do?”

“Maybe the safest thing is to stay away from James,” Jaquan comments.

“He’s the brother, dude. Do you expect to steer clear of family meals?” Gabriella cuts in. “She’s bound to see him again.”

“He lives in Boston so that makes things a little easier,” she continues.

“Have you seen him recently?” Beth asks with the same collected tone as earlier, smile warm and earnest.

Her gaze freezes. “I did. We…went for a walk a few days ago. He gave me his number and said he’s staying in New York for a week.”

“Oh dear, it started!” Gabriella exclaims.

“Rookie mistake,” Jaquan hums in a low voice.

Natasha frowns but she suddenly feels uneasy.

Jim elaborates the young man's remark. “The attraction is like a dangerous magnet. The closer it draws you in, the stronger the pull gets.”

Natasha shakes her head. “No, I have it under control.”

Again, the knowing glances fly across the room.

“Darling, the Watch doesn’t beep for anyone random. _He_ is your soulmate. Getting near them is giving up your power. God knows I’ve been there,” Beth says.

Pete swallows his annoyance out of respect for the oldest and wisest figure in the group.

“All my life I’d only known Rebecca,” Nolan chimes in, “but ever since I laid eyes on Colin, he’s been haunting my dreams. He turned my life upside down, and I’m still trying to figure out, but he’s the one thing that could make it make sense again.”

She turns toward Pete. He pouts.

“Meredith and I have the biggest fights, and I’m still mad, but I’m mostly mad that I adore her despite our differences. She infuriates me but I’m addicted to her.”

Natasha’s eyes get a little watery. She sniffs quietly as the entire room looks at her with a great deal of compassion.

“But I love Steve,” she murmurs softly.

“We know,” Nolan says.

“I know Jerry loved me,” Laura continues. “But what we had didn’t stand a chance.”

Natasha shuts her eyelids and summons her tears back inside. She bites her bottom lip.

“So I should stay away from James?”

“Do you want to stay away from him?” Camille challenges her coolly. Nat furrows her brows.

Jim grins compassionately. “What she means is that the choice is yours. You shouldn’t stay away from James because you’re scared of your feelings or scared of Steve’s. The only thing that matters is what _you_ want. The hard part is that you need to figure out what it is. And how can you know what you want if you don’t explore all the options in front of you?”

Beth nods. “This isn’t about Steve, and this isn’t about James. It’s about you.”

Those words echo in her mind for the rest of the afternoon.

That same evening she and Steve go on a date night together. After eating at a restaurant, they walk along the pier but the mood is very different from what it should have been.

“What’s wrong, Nat?” he eventually breaks the silence as they lean on the fence to look over the river.

She furrows her brows deeply. “I…It’s becoming too difficult to ignore how weird,” she pauses, “and hard this whole situation is.”

He nods silently but his nostrils slightly flare as his steel-blue gaze ricocheted off the water.

She feels a sudden burst of anxiety come up. She babbles her next words.

“I need to clear my mind — it’s getting cluttered and I…I don’t know what to th—.”

“You want to see James again,” he cuts her in, jaw clenched and locked, “don’t you?”

A silence collapses upon them. She looks over at him but he is staring in a longsighted gaze, his eyes distant.

Her absence of response is the most painful kind of answer.

“I know how it sounds right now but I _need_ to do it.”

She hopes he will make the difference between “want” and “need”. That he will realize her decision is not based on a whim but a necessity.

“Please,” she adds softly. “I need you to understand why I’m doing this.”

His head drops forward, like a vanquished soldier. A humorless snort slips between his lips. “You expect me to watch you fall for Bucky.”

She frowns in response and holds her hand out to touch his arm but he collectedly squirms away. “Nothing will happen. I’m doing this for _us_. And I’m asking for your support. Just trust me.”

His expression is broken but accepting, filled with sad bitterness. “There’s nothing James wants and doesn’t get. He has his ways.”

“Not this time,” she answers.

“And yet he has already managed to weave his way into our relationship. After a walk in Central Park.”

He sighs and walks off, but then halts and pauses. He turns around and his expression is more grave than earlier.

“You said earlier the whole situation is hard, but it never was for me. I love you — it’s that simple.” 

His adoring eyes linger on her then fall to the ground. Then he disappears down the pier.

* * *

The next day, with daunting nervousness, she texts James. They set a meeting on the same day in the late afternoon.

There is no going back, now.

On her way to the meeting point, she is haunted by Steve’s last words. If James does manage to come between them, how long would it take her to realize? How close can you get to someone without letting them in?

How much can you get acquainted with someone before you irreversibly get invested?

It is a task that resembles a particularly hazardous tightrope walking act. With a fall she cannot risk.

She walks into the coffee shop and finds James sitting at a table in the back, one leg casually folded over the other as he is flipping through a book. Like instinct, his eyes dart up, as if alerted and attuned to her.

A smile spreads wide across his face and his blue eyes light up. Her heartbeat quickens. He waves at her.

As she slowly walks up to the table, one foot after the other, as she treads along the wooden tiles, she feels the ground break wide open and tumble below her into the deepest abyss. She cannot glance down. Ironically, her eyes fixedly locked on James, he who is the object of her concerns is also the focal point that guides her up the taut rope.


	8. Chapter 8

Two weeks later, things have regained a sense of normalcy after James returned to Boston. But the shadow of his hanging above their lives and his name luring at the back of their throats are realities they refuse to acknowledge. But with the hundreds of miles separating Bucky from them, the threat he represents wanes every new day.

Natasha is practicing some new symphonies at the piano of the philharmonic center. Eyes closed, earbuds like cotton, her fingers run across the keyboard daringly. It is one of those moments where nothing else other than the music counts. It is peaceful. Relieving even. Her spirit soars as high as the notes surging from the strings.

Her fingertips become as hard as a rock when she heavily presses the last keys. Then stillness. Her hands freeze, collapse in blissful surrender as the last note dies out in the air. She breathes in.

“It was marvelous,” she hears.

Her eyes open wide and dart in the direction of the familiar voice. She feels her throat get a little tight.

“James,” she almost calls in an interrogative tone. “I thought you were back in Boston.”

Bucky comes to lean on the piano as his hand brushes over the wood.

“There is an important exhibition deal I’m trying to get for the gallery. I got a call this morning and hopped on the first plane.”

She nods without a word but he can read the uneasiness that has carved on her face.

“You don’t seem thrilled to see me,” he remarks with a playful smirk.

She gets up and nervously runs a hand through her red hair.

“No, it's not that. It’s just…I never have any other visitor than Ruth here. I know it may sound silly — but not even Steve has come here.”

James nods comprehensively. “I get it. It’s your space. I don’t let anyone in my painting studio either.”

She smiles.

He heads toward the exit. “I’ll be in town for the next two days probably. Can I call you later? There’s somewhere I’d like to take you.”

His grin lets on his tamed excitement.

“Sure,” she answers, clearing her throat, as it dawns on her that the lull from the last two weeks has just come to an end.

“Does Steve know you’re in New York?” she asks.

He nonchalantly shakes the jacket he’s holding in his hand. “I’ll tell him,” he answers, winks in her direction, and disappears.

She sits back on the bench, slightly dazed. She numbly stares down at her keyboard — they look hollow all of a sudden.

On the lower ground, Steve has just arrived to surprise Natasha with a lunch meal together after leaving a meeting with a new client in the block earlier than expected. He stands by the reception counter, left vacant for lunchtime, and waits patiently that she comes down.

He is almost panic-stricken when he sees his brother step out of the elevator. He furrows his brows deeply. Bucky halts in surprise upon seeing him but quickly regains composure.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he says casually.

“Neither did I,” Steve answers more sternly. He can’t push away the obsessive thought that James was upstairs where he has never been allowed. “What were you doing up there?”

James pauses, glances back at the elevator, crossed by the same thought. He glances back at Steve with a slightly mischievous smile. “Nat invited me. It was just for a quick chat.”

He shrugs like it isn’t a big deal.

Steve feels his blood boil. And hearing him call her Nat as if they reached that level of intimacy. “You’re lying,” he says hardly.

James looks him in the eye — there is that same devilish spark he had when they were teenagers.

“Does it really matter?” he answers challengingly. His smile seems to say the opposite, though. He is enjoying having the upper hand. But admitting to it would only feed the fun he’s getting from it. So Steve does not dig further.

“Don’t worry, I’m only here for a couple of days…this time,” he adds the last two words after a delectable pause.

It becomes more than he can take. Watching Bucky chase his girlfriend is a difficult thing to bear until his brother can’t resist turning it into one of their old competitions.

“We’re not playing one of your games, James.” He warns.

“No, we’re not,” Bucky answers coldly and steps up closer. “It’s a game _you_ started the moment you came after my soulmate. But you can’t help coming after what's mine, can you? Old habits die hard.”

Steve takes a deep breath in. The tension in the air can be cut with a knife. They stare at each other with unrepressed animosity. 

“That’s enough,” he says resolutely. “You stay away from Natasha.”

Bucky looks away, wets his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue as he bites it, then cracks a smile.

“You have no claim over her. You never did. The truth is blindingly obvious but you’re too scared to see it. We both know the reason you two met was so you could lead her to me.”

Steve's hand curls into a fist and sways in the air, right across Bucky’s jaw. James staggers backward. He wipes the corner of his mouth, drops his jacket and pounces on Steve.

* * *

“They fought!”

Natasha breathes out the words with a strange mix of disbelief and despair. Sitting on one of the chairs, she buries her forehead into her hands.

Laura just finished sharing about the awkward Saturday she had after her future ex-husband and his soulmate-slash-secretary girlfriend turned up at their youngest’s birthday party when Natasha couldn’t hold it in anymore.

All eyes turn in her direction.

“Sorry, Jaquan. Your weekly time can wait — burning tea is the priority,” Nolan says.

“Just so we’re clear, I was team Steve first,” Gabriella exclaims in thrilling anticipation.

“The Twilight triangle mess disappeared from the collective memory, along with 2/3 of the cast, 5 years ago, can we please not bring it back?” Camille comments snarkily with an eye-roll.

“I’m feeling James better,” Pete mumbles under his breath while Gabriella gives the other girl across from her the hard glare.

Jim calls for silence.

“What happened?” he asks her next.

Natasha shakes her head. “I’m not sure. James was leaving and came across Steve who was waiting for me. I came through the elevator when a security guy was breaking them up. Steve won’t tell me what happened. And now he’s sort of mad at me and won’t let me see him.”

“Meeesssy,” Jaquan says under his breath.

“You can’t let this go on any longer,” Laura advises. ‘You need to choose fast.”

“But not too fast because we want more juicy stories,” Gabriella chimes in.

Jim warns her with a glance that makes her completely silent.

“Fast,” Beth emphasizes. “the longer you wait, the harder it becomes for _everyone_.”

“I know that,” Natasha nods. “James wants to see me this evening and the truth is that I like spending time with him. And I don’t want to lose the potential of this relationship, whatever it is.”

“Yeah, we been knew,” Camille comments.

“What Camille is trying to say — in her own way—," Beth chimes in, "is that we are aware it is probably the most important decision you can make in your life. But what you want to avoid is for it to become the hardest decision you will ever have to make.”

* * *

That following evening, she meets James on a quiet street in downtown Brooklyn. She presses the button on the intercom at the address he has given her.

The door opens to soft, warm light and James stands with a smile on. The corner of his mouth is still a little blemished.

She steps inside and walks along the narrow hall.

“Where are we?” she asks.

He spins around to face her, while keeping walking backward. “That would ruin the surprise,” he says.

The hall eventually opens to a spacious white room filled with a strong smell of acrylics. The walls are filled with a collection of bright, colorful paintings.

“James, it’s amazing!” she exclaims as she takes in the many sights surrounding them.

“You like them?” he asks behind her. “Turns out I got the deal and the artist agreed to have his private viewing at the gallery.”

“Congratulations,” she erupts joyfully, lightly squeezing his arm and moving closer to the paintings. His eyes linger on the spot her hand has just touched.

She wanders across with eager and enthralled eyes.

James walks up behind her with two glasses of champagne. “How about a toast?” he asks.

She takes her eyes off the art and turns to face him, taking one of the flutes.

“To this special evening here…with you,” he says, looking deep in her eye, and clinks the glasses.

He then walks her through each painting, sharing about the artist’s vision. Eventually, they stop in front of one and after a short summary, James pauses. He contemplates the painting with loving fascination.

“This one makes me think of you,” he says.

She frowns and takes a second look at it. “A ballet dancer, really?” she comments. “You clearly haven’t seen me dance.”

The painting depicts a stage with a group of ballet dancers. But all have paused to watch and admire the one in the bright red pointy shoes as she dances right at the center. Her toned legs effortlessly soar in the air, light as a feather.

He smiles. “I can’t explain it. But when I look at this ballet dancer with her red shoes, I see you. Maybe in another life,” he says with a snort. “When I saw this painting, I just knew I had to get it home with me in Boston.”

She feels his intense gaze on her. It makes her feel small.

“Remember when we first talked in the park,” he begins in a much lower and deeper voice. “It was my turn to ask a question and I said it wasn’t the right time. I’d like to ask it now.”

She clutches her half-full glass and nods nervously.

“I understand why you took off your Watch but I’d like to know why you wore it in the first place.”

She bites her bottom lip and shifts a little but she notices James has not moved an inch. His entire body is turned in her direction, leaning over her.

“It’s an old story,” she says, trying to dismiss it.

He respects her not wanting to share the full story.

“No matter the initial reason, deep down, at the core, it’s because you wanted to find me. Just like I wore mine because I wanted to find you.”

She glances down and shakes her head. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“But isn’t the purpose of this Watch to make this one thing, amid the sea of complicated things life has in store for us, easier?

“James…”

“I’ll uncomplicate things if you’ll allow me. I like you, Natasha — and it’s an understatement — and I know the whole situation is messed up, and believe me I hate how it has all unfolded, but it is a small price to pay to have you.”

He suddenly leans in and captures her lips in a soft, tender kiss. His hand comes up to cusp her face as his thumb sways softly across her cheek.

Her eyelids open as she processes what is happening. When his lips finally part from hers, looking intently at her with the wildest expectations, he is met with silence and an unreadable expression.

She takes a step back and the hand on her face falls slowly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to rush you,” he says but she is already many strides away from him. Without looking back, she puts the glass down and exits the building, leaving the door open behind her.

She runs across roads and blocks as fast as her feet can take her, out of breath but restless.

She eventually turns around the corner into the familiar street. She passes through the building gate, presses the elevator button impatiently.

As it carries up her the floors, her mind fogs up with a million thoughts but one burning desire. She bursts out of the elevator and runs to knock on the thick door across the hall.

After a few endless seconds, she hears the lock.

Steve opens the door with a weary and perplexed expression.

“Nat?” he begins and she pushes her way through and pulls him down imperiously from the neck. Her kisses quickly get heated and desperate. She strips him off his clothes like barriers that need to be taken down. His hands soon mirror hers in aching longing as his fingers sneak their way through the layers of clothing to her skin.

Her lips give just as hard as they demand forgiveness and his indulge with the same ardor.

She falls onto the bed and his mouth travels along her body with a familiarity that is intoxicating. Skin against skin, they reconnect like they haven’t in weeks.

As their naked, sweaty bodies lie untangled on the creased sheets, her mind wanders to the art studio across Brooklyn, but only for a moment, before Steve’s loving arms pull her into sleep along with him.


	9. Chapter 9

The moonlight pierces through the thick clouds and casts her shadow on the white sheet. Natasha wakes up to a cool, empty space next under her stretched hand. Her hand gently squeezes Steve’s pillow. Her eyelids crack open as memories from the evening slowly roll over her like a wave.

She sits up and loosely wraps the sheet around her chest. She leaves the bedroom and wanders across the dimly lit lounge with a deepening frown.

She finally catches sight of Steve’s, broad and bare figure, sitting outside on the terrace. She walks over, delicately slides the glass door open and her small feet tread over the wooden floor. Steve does not react.

“Steve?” she says but his gaze fixedly contemplates the bright Manhattan skyline across the river.

She comes to sit next to him and brushes his naked arm. “Are you okay? Aren’t you cold?”

He pouts with a noticeable resigned expression. “I woke up with those old memories I thought I was over it.”

She shifts closer. “You can tell me.”

His face suddenly bears the weight of guilt. “When I told you Bucky and I have drifted apart, it’s actually more complicated than that.” He trails off and gulps down past tears. “I was jealous of him. Probably still am.”

He turns to look at her, almost daring her to judge him; her eyes remain forbearing.

“When my mother married his father, we were both happy to find a brother. He became a big brother to me, and I became a brother to him. We were similar and yet different — he was this unfettered, loud version of me. When we both walked into a room, he was the one people noticed. James was well aware of that and did his best to be protective and supportive of me. We had so many things in common and, with time, we discovered we even shared similar dreams. The biggest one being our interest in art. Of course, he had no problem displaying his skills while I kept mine hidden. His talent grew along with his confidence over the years while I kept practicing mine behind closed doors. Of course, Bucky knew that. When our parents came one day offering James a chance to join a special Art course, I watched, hoping he would ask I join too. But he didn’t. My mother had always wanted to have an artist in the family and she finally did — the course was her idea. After that, I gave up on Bucky's and my dream to live off our art and left it to him. Then I decided I would study Law, next thing I knew my mother grew closer to Bucky and slipped away from me. I know she still loved me of course, but she admired him. They all did. When I got accepted into Law school, I quickly left the family house because I couldn’t bear the idea of feeling less than. After all those years, whenever we’re all gathered, I can’t help thinking that he took my mom.”

Steve pauses and takes a heavy breath. “And now he’s after you. I guess this has revived old wounds.”

She shakes her head and reaches for his hand. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea you feel this way. And I’m sorry about what happened between you and James. You had every right to feel the way he made you feel. Does Sarah know?”

“It would hurt her if she ever found out it’s how I feel. And it’s been so long anyways.”

“I get it,” Natasha answers softly as she strokes the side of his face, over to his shoulder and down his arm. “I’m glad you told me.”

His eyelids close heavily and he inhales deeply. “I guess the reason I’m telling you now is because I’m jealous again. He got you.”

Natasha frowns. She almost stammers her next words, “What do you mean?”

He clasps his hands together and his blue eyes take a shade of steel.

“What happened tonight with Bucky?”

She holds back her gasp but her panic is not fleet enough for him not to catch. “Why are you asking this?”

“Nat, I know you. I’ve kissed you a hundred times, and the way you kissed me tonight — the way we made love — it was guilt. So I’m asking again, what happened with James?”

On the inside, she loses all her composure — it crumbles and dissolves like sand in water, but on the outside, she shows great emotional poise.

“Whatever you answer next, I’ll believe it,” he answers. “But I need to know if something happened.”

“Nothing that matters,” she murmurs, glancing away.

In other circumstances, she would have been honest — like she has been since Bucky came into their life — but now, knowing their history, she forbids herself to be the other woman to stand between them. 

Steve beholds her and nods to himself. Natasha meekly leans against him, quietly asking permission. His body slightly pivots toward her and he opens his arms to cradle her against his chest. His skin is cold, and for a second, she wonders if it’s only because of the night weather. 

* * *

A week goes by, and the text she received the morning after their aborted evening has been left on read. 

_I truly am sorry about last night. Hope I can make it up to you soon. J._

The lie she told Steve has begun to dig a gap between them. The weight of it is more bearable when he’s not around so she’s been visiting less. She hopes the guilt will lessen with time.

But one day, as she exits rehearsals, Natasha has an unexpected visitor — the most unexpected, actually. She finds the lean and poised figure standing in the lobby with a warm but slightly tight smile.

Natasha frowns in surprise.

“Mrs. Barnes —Sarah?” she corrects herself.

“Hello, dear,” the woman says, stepping closer and kissing her cheeks. "I hope you don't mind me visiting you."

Natasha laughs nervously. “Not at all. It’s a pleasure to see you again. Are you looking for Steve? I know he’s in court today.”

Sarah shakes her head and reaches for her hand. “He doesn’t know I’m in New York yet. First, I thought you and I could have a chat.” She squeezes her hand as a subtle plea.

Natasha feels a knot in her stomach. It can’t be a good sign when your boyfriend’s mother — and incidentally your soulmate’s step-mother — wants to have a talk.

“I know a place not too far from here,” Sarah adds.

Fifteen minutes later, Natasha and Sarah Barnes are sitting in an elegantly-decorated tea room. Nothing too posh, but not your ordinary tea house either.

They remain quiet until a waiter comes and takes their order. He returns a few minutes later with individual teapots and cups.

“Have you been here before?” Sarah starts casually as she pours herself a cup.

“I haven’t but it’s lovely,” she answers a little nervously as she mirrors her and picks up her teapot.

“They have all the varieties of tea you can think of, but their specialty is their special blend whose ingredients they keep secret,” Sarah continues.

Natasha smiles politely and looks down at the little spoon she’s stirring in her sugarless tea.

Sarah takes a sip then smiles casually. “I’m sorry. George always laughs at me when I do this. He says I speak about random things at length when I’m nervous.”

Natasha almost has a hiccup — and it has nothing to do with the beverage she hasn’t touched yet.

“It’s okay. I’m ready to have this conversation,” she speaks softly.

Sarah smiles sympathetically: they both know it is a lie.

“I came to see you to talk about how the situation has impacted my two sons.”

Natasha bites her lip. “I’m sorry if this has caused you and Mr. Barnes worry. It’s been complicated for everyone.”

“I know, dear, and I’m not blaming you for it. The Watch has destroyed my first marriage and given me another happy one. I am well aware of how it can complicate things before it uncomplicates them.”

Nat gives her a grateful nod as she bites her tongue to hold back her growing emotion.

The woman entwines her fingers with the tea handle and around the cup. “You may probably be aware of the tense relationship between Steve and James. It’s something that has absolutely nothing to do with you but that this new situation has rekindled.”

“I’m sorry to hear,” she answers vaguely.

Sarah smiles warmly. “I appreciate your diplomatic discretion but I think you deserve to know more about it.” She takes a deep breath in. “When Joseph — Steve’s father— left, I put my best effort into raising my son to become a strong and loyal man. Steve has always had this sensitivity he can’t speak on and that made me very protective of him. After marrying George, Steve and James became like true brothers and I raised and loved James like my own son.”

She pauses and laughs sheepishly. “You see, when I was young, I wanted to be a painter, and I’d always hoped one of my children would inherit this passion. So when James began to display artistic talents, as much as I would have loved it were Steve, I still felt grateful to be given a child who had similar aspirations. I trusted God that Steve would find his own path he’d be passionate about.” Her expression turns slightly stern and resigned. “And one day he did. He got interested in Law…just like his father did. Steve doesn’t know this, but the day he told me he'd applied to a Law school, my heart broke. I couldn’t bear the thought that my sweet, loving boy would share any trait in common with a man like Joseph. Maybe part of me was jealous he’d pick on his father’s passion and not mine. I couldn’t stop him from chasing his dream —because he’s my son and I’ll always love him no matter what— but maybe he felt my lack of support; and instead, I gave it all to James. It’s probably where I failed him as a mother.”

Her eyes are gleaming with tears. “I’m proud of my son of course but I have never had the strength to go see him plead in court. I know it’s wrong and I shouldn’t make him carry the weight of his father’s memory.”

Natasha reaches over for her hand. “I’m sure he would understand. But maybe it is a truth he needs to hear.”

Sarah squeezes back. “You’re right. Maybe, someday.” She reaches for the napkin to dry her eyes. “Anyways, I know you’re a good person but I’m coming with a favor.”

Natasha looks at her closely with a circumspect expression. “The longer this situation drags on for, the more damage it will do to their relationship. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

And her words sound out like toll bells.

* * *

It is a warm afternoon in peaceful Boston. James is organizing the setting of the latest exhibition he has negotiated for. The paintings have just been delivered from New York. As his eyes sweep across all the canvas sitting against the floor, they fall on the ballerina dancer with red pointed shoes.

The painting thrusts him to over two weeks ago when he was looking at it with Natasha. The memory of their kiss brought an unexpected mix of contentment and regret. Not remorse for having kissed her, but regret it had pulled her away from him. She still hasn’t replied to his text and he fears he might have lost her. Yet he can’t believe she didn’t feel what he felt when their lips met.

The gallery is closed for the next couple of days to prepare for the private viewing so the soft knock on the glass door catches him by surprise.

He sighs and heads over to the entrance door. “We’re closed,” he answers casually and halts suddenly when he recognizes Natasha’s figure standing behind the door. His heartbeat quickens excitedly as he goes to open the door.

A bright smile flashes across his face. “I’m happy to see you,” he says. The corner of her mouth rises slightly.

He fights off the urge to give her a hug. “Please come in.”

He glances around and down at his very casual clothes. “I’m sorry, this is all a mess,” he laughs nervously. “I’ve been working on the new exhibition. I can run and grab us some coffee.”

“It’s alright, James.” She answers calmly. “I came to see _you_.” 

He smirks and is about to drop off his cheeky one-liners but stops when he reads her serious expression. It isn’t stern or grave, but unsettlingly collected and resolute.

“What is it?” he asks.

The lines she prepared on her journey to Boston have suddenly all vanished.

“I need to prepare for my European tour and it’s going to take a lot of my time. It’s probably better that we leave things off as they are right now.”

His stomach gets tight. “Are – are you saying you don’t want to see me anymore? If it’s because you felt my kiss was rushing you, then I promise it won’t happen again.”

“No, James. This isn’t about the kiss. If anything, I’d say it helped to shed light on some things. And one of them is that whatever we have can’t go on.”

He furrows his brows and conceals his uneasiness behind a snort. “But I’m your soulmate and you’re mine.”

“And I’ll always cherish that,” she answers. “But it doesn’t mean soulmates should always end up together.”

“But the Watch is never wrong. It made my father happy again and gave me a family. I wear it too because I wanted the same for me and you, too, wore it at some point —.”

“— out of guilt,” she cuts him in. She takes a deep breath in as she is about to share a story she’s only told one person before, Steve. “You wanted to know why I wore the Watch in the first place. It wasn’t because I was after a happily ever after. My father gifted it to me and I didn’t put it on until years later when I found out he’d died. I was trying to make it up for not being a good daughter. I wore it for him. And Steve helped me to make peace with it. I never wanted the Watch, I wanted forgiveness.”

This loud truth makes his mind and heart reel. “No,” he says.

“I’m sorry, James. But you deserve to be someone who wants you as badly as you want them. All that time you spent looking for me, I spent it waiting.”

He shakes his head and comes closer, cupping her soft, marble-skinned face. His eyes dive into her emerald gaze.

“I want to be with you,” he says adamantly.

Natasha looks at him closely and rests her hand on his. “You want to be with your soulmate…who happens to be me. You only like the idea of me.”

His eyes brim with tears. “Maybe at first,” he murmurs. “But my soulmate turned out to be one intriguing woman. Far better than I could have hoped for.”

Her pupils begin to quiver but remain dry. “And so are you. I wish you to be happy, James. You deserve it.”

He closes his eyes and gulps down the hard truth as he nods to himself. He leans in and plants a kiss on her forehead.

His lips slightly tremble as they reluctantly pull away.

She smiles at him and exhales weakly the breath she has been holding in. She reaches for her bag she put it on his desk.

“For what’s it worth, I’ll miss you,” she says.

She heads towards the door and grabs the handle.

“I envy him,” James’ voice echoes behind her. It makes her freeze as her hand remains clasped around the handle. “I envy him for being the man your heart chose.”

A few seconds pass by during which no sound is made. She swallows down the tears that are pushing her way out. Without a word and without a glance behind her shoulder, she opens the door and leaves the gallery.

Hot tears are rolling down her face as she walks away.

* * *

That same evening, she unlocks Steve’s door and comes with heavy spirits.

Steve is doing some paperwork by the fireplace.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, tonight. I can order us some pizza,” he says as he gathers the papers and closes the folder.

He comes over and kisses her cheek. He stops to look at her and pauses. “You okay? You seem tired.”

He suggests a drink and walks over to the wine shelf.

“I just came back from Boston,” she says.

The heavy silence is interrupted by the awkward sound of the cork popping open. He looks at her with a veiled distressed expression.

“I told him I couldn’t see him anymore,” she says.

His hands are pressed on the quartz surface of the kitchen island. He glances down at them, feels his blood run normally again as his heartbeat regains a slow pace.

“It mustn’t have been easy. I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head as new tears threaten to overflow. “Please, I need you to _not_ be your chivalrous self tonight.”

But the truth is, she doesn’t want anyone to feel sorry for her. Not even herself.

Her comment takes him aback. “Okay,” he answers quietly.

His compliance only makes it worse. She runs her fingers through her hair and sighs frustratingly. After a pause, she bites her lip before voicing her next words.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I realized letting this situation dragging on for longer than it should have was wrong, when the obvious solution has been right in front of me all along.”

He eyes her quizzically with rising apprehension.

“This can’t go on,” she breathes out defeatedly as she points to them both. “It’s hurting everybody, starting with you.”

Steve darts off from behind the kitchen furniture and comes to her.

“Are you…leaving me?” he asks.

Every word stabs them both in the chest. “It’s the right thing to do.”

A long tear cascades down his face. “You swore I wouldn’t lose you.”

She swallows in her own tears. “I know. And I meant I wouldn’t choose James. But now, it goes beyond us or this stupid triangle situation.”

She’s choosing Steve and James’ relationship as brothers. It is the priceless love worth saving.

“I’m choosing me,” she lies. Because neither brother should have to carry the weight of her sacrifice. “I want to concentrate on my career and heal.”

“You don’t mean that,” he says. She looks him deep in the eye in silent adoration. Funny how James, her soulmate, did not question it one bit but Steve just knows it isn’t true.

“I want you to be happy and my coming into your life has been damaging everything. It’ll all get better once I’ve gone with all the mess I’ve brought along.”

He suddenly leaps forward and wraps her in his loving embrace. He strokes her hair gently.

“Don’t leave me for the wrong reasons — I could not bear it. I think I’d handle it better if you left me to be with him — I’d find comfort in knowing you’re happy. It would alleviate my pain. But if you’re leaving just to make things right then that raw pain will never heal. It will be an open wound throbbing always.”

Her hands clutch the fabric of his shirt as she weeps quietly.

“I’m unhappy about the person it’s made me. And I want this feeling to stop. We all deserve to be happy again even if it means separately. I don’t pretend it won’t hurt at first, but eventually, I’ll feel better about myself.”

She pulls away to look at him. She finds a broken face. “And that is the truth.”

Steve probes her closely for a sign of untruthfulness but finds none.

“I’m asking you to let me go,” she murmurs.

It makes another tear stream down his face.

He leans in and captures her lips in the last seal of his undying love.

She puts down the key on the table and walks to the door.

She turns to take one last look at him and smiles contentedly.

“Nobody’s ever loved me the way you did — thank you.”

With the weight of two broken hearts, she leaves carrying the quiet pride of his undying love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next stop: the final chapter!  
> The great news is that I'm already on it! ;)  
> What are your thoughts about the update and your hopes for the ending?


	10. Final Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the end. I am so excited! Thank you so much for sticking with me through my writer's blocks and other things.  
> I hope it will be a satisfying conclusion.  
> I would LOVE to hear your final thoughts <3  
> Until another story,  
> Love

Several weeks of hard work and relentless rehearsals go by in which Natasha pours all of herself. Body, mind, and heart. Especially heart. Music works as a temporary balm on her bleeding heart. The notes burgeon right at the core of the crack, spread up, and land on the sheet in flowing melodies.

The Rogers & Barnes family soon belongs to a not so remote past. Their specter still haunts the Brooklyn streets, Central Park, the lobby of the auditorium and even her favorite coffee shop. New York becomes theirs more than it is hers and it is almost a relief when Ruth announces the start of her European tour. She hopes she will find solace across an ocean.

After a meeting with her patron, Tony Stark, to discuss the last details of the tour, she runs into her friend. Maria Hill gives her a hug and tries to conceal the obvious under small talks. What she doesn’t tell her is that she’s only come across one other person with the same broken expression and it was in this same corridor moments before a legal consultation with her boss.

A week before flying out to Europe, her new score is released on music platforms. A recognition she has always dreamed of but that has a bit of a sour taste.

Nearly 3 months have gone by. She leaves the Big Apple with a long-awaited sense of relief as the plane takes off for a new land of hope that doesn’t bear _their_ mark.

The first date is in Rome. The debut of her European tour is a success. Amid the heartfelt applause, as she waves to the crowd, joy almost graces her with its embrace.

Next, Berlin and Vienna. Her tour and name are gaining momentum. She begins to play the themes of her life like an open diary selflessly put on display.

After nearly a month of touring, the new routine and perhaps the weariness of travel have numbed her heart. Days become a soothing cycle of rehearsals and concertos that take her mind off of her sorrow.

While in Paris, Ruth has the bad idea of setting a private greet & meet into some kind of date. A disastrous failure. The next day, she begs her never to do that again.

“I mean, we were in Paris, the city of love! It would have been rude not to try to spark something,” Ruth says.

Natasha rolls her eyes internally. The last thing she needs is to strike a match amid the blazing ashes of her heart.

“Please, don’t. No more meet and greet with bachelors.”

Ruth purses her lips together and complies reluctantly.

After another month, the tour is ending with a concerto in Saint-Petersburg. She lands on motherland Russia with a nervous thrill. Born in America, she has only seen Russia in her parents’ photo album. Her coming here takes airs of a pilgrimage. Her hands get moist at the idea she will perform the day after.

She spends the afternoon strolling along the streets her child self only trod in her imagination. It is an enrapturing walk through Russian history and her own. She finds pieces of her father in the sound of leather shoes and the rough palms of local craftsmen, of her mother in the subtle smell of herbs in restaurants and food stalls and along with the singing of housewives hanging damp clothes at the window.

Her Russian is rusty, and often met with quizzical frowns, but talking with the locals brings her a blissful sense of belonging. She can see now why her parents called it home until their dying breath.

Her quest takes her to quieter streets off the city center. Holding a photograph labeled with some scribbled note on the back, she finds her way down an alley paved with grainy cobblestones.

All alone, her loud heartbeat seems to echo against the forsaken walls. She stops in front of an old door with worn blue paint. She lets a shaky breath out.

Her parents’ home. They lived there the first two years of their marriage before her father got them a visa. After her mother’s death, he often talked about it and reminisced about trivial memories she could not bring herself to listen to at the time. Now that she has lost them both, those memories mean everything to her. She glances down at the old photograph. Her parents, young and healthy, are smiling proudly before the same door, except decades younger.

She nervously stretches her hand before softly knocking on the door. She isn’t sure what she will tell the new lodgers but she hopes she will convince them to let her in.

No answer. She knocks again. Silence still. Her knocking gets louder, almost desperate.

“Anyone, please?” she calls in broken Russian.

She bangs again — the battered door is swinging in a screeching noise. “Please. I just need a minute,” she pleads loudly, more to herself as the thought the place is abandoned is painfully dawning on her.

She bangs and kicks restlessly as tears flow down her face. Only the agonizing noise from the door joints accompanies her pain. She bangs until exhaustion. She presses her forehead against the wood and weeps quietly.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she cries in soft whimpers blending Russian and English. Almost back home, she says farewell to bitter remorse and young grief.

Crying out on this decrepit, forgotten door, she has never felt closer to her parents and their heritage. She hopes, wherever they are, they have forgiven her.

* * *

The next day is saved for rehearsals. For her final date, Stark saw big and managed to get the Mariinsky theater. The walls bear the stamps of the many talented artists that have performed before her. Walking into the main room is both stupefying and intimidating.

“I can’t believe Stark got it!” she exclaims.

Ruth smiles mischievously. “You know Stark, as soon as I _innocently_ dropped it was impossible to book it, he said to leave it to him.”

Natasha snorts. “You’re a genius.”

“I know!”

After long practice, concerto time is almost ahead. Ruth has gotten her the most glamorous gown to match the event.

Dressed in a stunning silver dress, the curtain goes up and she comes on stage. The audience stands up and claps. She presses her hand against her heart and smiles.

“Thank you,” she murmurs in Russian. She bows then heads over to the piano.

Before hitting the first keys, she engraves the memory in her mind.

Nearly two hours later, at the end of the concerto, the crowd rises again in loving cheers. She blows kisses before walking off stage.

Her brain is filled with a thousand whirring thoughts and feelings. She goes backstage and sits at the make-up table, glances at the photograph of her parents she has slipped in the corner of the mirror and smiles.

After a few minutes, Ruth sneaks into the room and closes the door behind her. She has one of her broad smiles for when she is about to ask for a favor.

“Someone would like to congratulate you in person,” Ruth almost wheezes excitedly.

Natasha waves it off. “No, I told you I didn’t want any more of your sketchy meet & greets.”

“But this one is special,” Ruth exclaims in a low voice, squeezing. “It’s a big fan who came all the way from the US to see you perform tonight.”

She frowns, gobsmacked. “You sure?” she asks, curiosity taking over. She nods hesitantly. “Okay.”

Ruth plants a kiss on her cheek and hurries out of the room.

She flips around to look in the mirror. It’s difficult to believe the reflection she sees is her own: a beloved pianist performing in one of the most prestigious theaters, sought after by admirers.

Engrossed in those thoughts, she doesn’t hear the door open.

“Good evening, Natasha,” a familiar voice calls softly behind her.

Her heart skips a beat. She slowly turns to face the unexpected visitor. Her gaze caves in as she finds Steve’s figure standing in the middle of the room, dressed in a fancy dark tuxedo. He is breathing nervously while his eyes intently take in her sight.

She holds on to the back of the chair sitting right behind her.

“Hi,” she murmurs with a voice that is already breaking.

Their eyes have already exchanged a thousand words.

“Your score is beautiful. I often listen to it.”

“What are you doing here?” she asks, clearing her throat.

“You said you always wanted to perform in St-Petersburg. I know how much it means to you,” he begins and shrugs softly. “I couldn’t miss the moment you’d achieve your dream.”

It takes her breath away. “Thank you.”

His expression turns grave. “Did you find your parents’ home?”

The question is so unexpected and yet earnest; tears almost brim from her eyes. She nods. “Yes,” she breathes out, relieved to find a confidant, astounded he remembers and cares. “It was pretty emotional.”

Steve smiles thoughtfully, his eyes gleaming with her shared emotion. “I wish I’d been here for you.”

Her whimsical gaze wanders to him. A thought dawns on her.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” she says. “You got the Mariinsky theater for me tonight.”

It made sense. As influential as Tony could be, he still needed an excellent negotiator to land the deal. His best lawyer.

Steve’s modesty does not allow him to respond.

She walks over to him and looks him in the eye. “After all this time, why are you still looking out for me?”

“Last week, my mom came to see me in court for the first time in 15 years,” he says with a smile. “She told me about your conversation and now I can’t help but hope that you left not because you didn’t love me enough but because you wanted the best for me.”

She glances away.

“You can just say the words and I’ll be out of your life for good but first there’s something I need to say. When we were together, I deluded myself into thinking I didn’t give this stupid Watch any value but the truth is all I wish is that it had beeped when I walked up to you that day at the coffee shop. Because it meant I could never have you truly and it was killing me. And it still is. One of your symphonies is called that, “Soulmate,” — I know it’s about Bucky and I respect that,” he trails off with a deep frown. “I know and I have accepted I can’t compete with this kind of connection. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to be your soulmate, but all I have to give is my love — if it’s worth anything. Because you have it, Nat, now and before…my love and all of me.”

A sad snort comes out of her lips as she stares at her beautiful fool. “I can’t believe you listened to my score and didn’t realize you were in it. Yes, the piece you mentioned is my tribute to what James and I could have had, but don’t you know,” she murmurs with a tear falling, “‘Soulless’ is about you? If James is my soulmate then you, Steve, are my very soul. I lost it when I left you.”

And she has been suffocating ever since, roaming aimlessly. Him being in the room right now is like a breath of air after drowning for the longest time. She lives again.

His eyes are watery while the smile tugs at his lips.

“I didn’t realize,” he says softly, his heart beaming with quiet pride. “I viewed myself as the other guy — the one standing between you and your soulmate — and it seemed like an impossible fight to win.” His eyes dive into hers. “Natasha, I can’t live without you. If it means cutting ties with my family so you — we— can be happy, I’ll do it in a heartbeat. You are my family.”

A joyous sob escapes her lips and she leaps forward, kissing him eagerly. Their lips learn their old ways again instantly, sending sparks down their spines. She reluctantly pulls away for air. Pressing a hand against the white shirt of his tuxedo, feeling his heartbeat drum impetuously in response, she shakes her head.

“I’d never ask for such a thing. For having lost mine, I know how important family is,” she murmurs. “But God, these past 6 months have been torture. I thought the pain would go away but it became part of me. I got over everything, I got over James, but you’re the one thing I couldn’t shake. I don’t care what the algorithm — the Universe or God — has to say: I want you, and you only, despite all of this.”

Her gleaming pupils quiver. “It’s got to mean something, right?”

He looks at her with adoring eyes. The happiest smile plays on his lips and leans in for another kiss.

Back in her parents’ homeland, she is reunited with her new family.

* * *

They land back to sunny New York City under favorable auspices. From there, life goes back to normal. Normal, prior to the Watch’s beeping. Their happy reunion has chased off the dark clouds of their past concerns. Their days are carefree and their nights blithesome.

Every evening, clothed or in the blissful nude, Steve and Natasha drift to sleep in each other’s arms.

Steve eventually shares the news of her return with the family but James’ response remains unknown.

Nearly a year after the first occasion, they are invited to the summer family barbecue at the Hamptons. Steve and Natasha get there with more apprehension than the first time but with the soothing comfort of their secure commitment to each other.

Maria, the maid, greets them both with the same enthusiasm and argues with Steve over their luggage.

Neither knows if James will be there — Sarah still hadn’t heard back from him the evening before.

They walk into the backyard with a strange feeling of déjà vu. George is turning on the grill and preparing the meat chops while Sarah is sipping iced tea at the table.

Sarah’s eyes open wide in excitement and she gets up.

She greets Steve and squeezes her son in a loving, maternal embrace that he welcomes more heartily than a year before. She smiles fondly as she looks him up and down, pride beaming in her eye.

She turns to Natasha in genuine eagerness and holds her in her arms.

“Welcome back, darling,” she says and squeezes her hand with a grateful smile. “Congratulations on your tour! Oh your album is simply outstanding, isn’t it, George?”

Her husband has just finished greeting them with a kiss and has walked back to his grill. He nods with a wave of his tightly-clutched pliers.

“We’ve never had a musician in the family so it’s a welcomed blessing,” he says with a cordial, but earnest smile. Natasha wonders how many conversations it took for James’ father to accept the strange situation.

But soon, the prospect that James may not turn up lightens the atmosphere slightly and all go on with trivial matters and discussions. Steve is helping George at the grill and Natasha and Sarah go sit by the immense swimming pool overlooking the beach.

The two women have small talks over their fresh beverages. When silence finally settles, Natasha puts her glass down and looks over at Sarah with a serious expression.

“I hope my being here is not making things awkward,” she says. “I’ll be sorry if it keeps James away today.”

Sarah looks at her with a collected expression.

“When I came to see you in New York, I was very eager to solve the issue. But I only ended up making them both miserable.” She takes a deep breath and stares into space. “I found myself having to choose to keep it that way or help one of them find happiness. Maybe it was selfish of me, but I thought it was fair to be for Steve. After everything, I owed him that. To know my son is happy now is all I could ask for. Now I intend to do everything in my power to help my other boy heal, no matter how long it takes.”

She smiles at her. “Don’t you worry about it, dear. I have been through enough to know there is nothing time cannot help with.” 

Just then, Maria walks out of the house, accompanied by James. He bears a stern, almost unreadable expression when coming through. Sarah rushes over to hug him while George shuts the lid of the grill to go and say hi.

Steve is holding his glass in a serene but solid grip. The two brothers greet each other with a silent nod.

James is still standing in a confident, square posture when his face almost falls when Natasha comes around from the pool.

An uncontrollable surge of vulnerability flashes through his gaze. She smiles at him tentatively. She walks over and gives him a hug, genuinely glad to see him again. None of what happened, or her decision, take anything away from the deep affection she has for him. She would want him as a dear friend if anything. His hand is still pressed against her back when she pulls away with a warm smile tugged at her lips.

She then steps away to Steve’s side.

The rest of the afternoon goes almost normally. Sarah and George take the lead of casual conversations while Steve and Natasha respectfully keep their PDA to the bare minimum. She becomes an equally friendly figure to every member of the family. But the strong connection between her and Steve is impossible to miss or ignore.

The way his body always unconsciously pivots in her direction when she moves, like a satellite caught in her orbit, or how her eye movement always inexorably concludes on the sight of him are intangible evidence of their mutual bond. One James grows aware his soulmate status cannot compete with. Their enduring love has confounded his predestined one. The stars have nothing on their grounded allegiance to each other.

Long after sunset, they head back inside the mansion and say goodnight. Steve and Natasha are staying in the white room she didn’t get to sleep in the first time months ago. James’ room is down the hall. They make eye contact as she comes up the stairs to go to her room. Their glance is only brief before his eyes dart away and he closes the door.

The cool sea breeze is softly blowing into the bedroom. After showering, Natasha finds Steve sitting quietly on the side, staring blankly at the white drapes unfurling in the wind.

She comes to stand before him. She softly passes her fingers through his damp hair. And he looks up at her with a weary expression.

“You okay?” she asks. They both know what the question is about.

A little sigh comes out of his lips and he nods. His hand reaches for hers and pulls it down to his mouth. He kisses her palm gently.

“I consider myself lucky, that’s all,” he murmurs.

It is both a blessing and a curse to bear.

“He’ll come to understand,” she says, echoing Sarah’s words.

He nods to himself and pulls her down. He plants a kiss on her lips.

He missed her. Despite spending all the afternoon by her side, it wasn’t close enough.

She returns the feeling and deepens the kiss. His arm comes around her waist and gently pulls her down, lay her on the bed. He lies on top of her and brushes the side of her face.

She smiles a peaceful smile. He kisses her for most of the evening until they drift to sleep.

Moments before dawn, Steve is awakened by the sound of a creaking door. Muffled footsteps glide past their bedroom door and wane in the distance. He gently pulls his arm off from under Natasha’s sleeping figure and gets up.

He goes to the window which is facing sea view. After a minute, he catches sight of James’ figure walking down the path to the beach.

He frowns and after slight hesitation puts on clothes and shoes.

He doesn’t need to rush. He walks along the beach at a steady pace, until eventually, he finds James sitting on the rocks not far from the pier.

The first sunrays are piercing through the scarlet sky.

James does not say a word until Steve’s figure has come to stand by his side, hands in his pockets.

“How’d you know I was here?” he asks coolly, twisting a long leaf of dune grass he picked on his way. 

“You’d always come here whenever George, or anyone else, had upset you,” Steve answers.

James has a cynical grin but his gaze remains locked on the water. “Yeah. Sounds so trivial, now,” he remarks musingly.

“Want to talk about it?” Steve offers.

Bucky snorts. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he begins and his eyes travel up to his face. His expression is bitter. “I took away your dream and you took my soulmate — I guess it makes us even.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “We’re not kids anymore,” he sighs and looks behind his shoulder, contemplating leaving altogether. “I came because I thought we could talk.”

James throws the leaf into the water and shrugs. “Ok, let’s talk! What do you have to say? What do you possibly have to say that can make up for this bullshit?” He pauses and pinches the bridge of his nose. He takes a deep breath in to collect himself. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. It’s been months — I’m past this. I came after all, didn’t I? I didn’t anticipate today would be so weird, that’s all.”

He chokes up over his last words. He purses his lips and looks over the sea with a tight jaw and restless eyes.

Looking down at his brother in this posture, a thought dawns on Steve. He looks down at his feet and clears his throat.

“You’re right — I haven’t been considerate of your feelings,” he trails off and his voice turns raspy. “For what’s it’s worth I’m sorry. I’m sorry this happened. I was so scared I’d be hurt that I overlooked the fact you were hurting too. I hope you will be happy, Bucky. I truly do.”

James’ figure hasn’t shifted. His back to him, he is silently looking at the golden sun rising in the horizon and streaming shades of pink and yellow across the dim sky. Bucky’s indifference is his cue to leave. Steve nods sadly to himself and starts walking away.

After a few seconds, James looks over his shoulder.

“Steve,” he calls. They look at each other. James’ expression is a different shade of grave than earlier. It isn’t stern but whimsical. “I failed you. I was supposed to have your back and I didn’t. I should have been a better brother to you.”

They are both thrown back to their teenage years. The memories are suddenly as vivid as if it was the day before.

Steve’s expression is appreciative, grateful even. A small smile tugs at his lips. And he nods as a thank you for an apology he waited for over 15 years to hear. And yet, it couldn’t have come at a better time.

Time really is a strange concept.

Things are looking up. They’re all on the right path.

As he heads back to the house, he smiles, happy to part from his brother on better terms than they have been in years; eager to be at the side of his life partner when she awakes.

The day is peaceful, promising even.

It is the start of a new journey.


End file.
